


Drowning in Darkness

by TrickstersInTheImpala



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: F/M, This is my first story please be nice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 10:37:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 52,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1263175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrickstersInTheImpala/pseuds/TrickstersInTheImpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seemed like all her life she had been running, desperate to get away from some unknown force. After collapsing on 221B Baker Street things take a turn she never would have expected and the chance of getting revenge is within her grasp. But what happens when the truth comes out and everything around her begins to fall? Sherlock/OC pre-reichenbach Guys, I really suck at summaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is just something that's been stuck in my head for awhile and finally decided to write down. Let me know what you think or if you have and suggestions. :)

It happens like this.

One day you meet someone and for some inexplicable reason, you feel more connected to this stranger than anyone else-closer to them than your closest family. Perhaps this person carries within them an angel-one sent to you for some higher purpose; to teach you an important lesson or to keep you safe during a perilous time. What you must do is trust them-even if they come hand in hand with pain and suffering-the reason for their presence will become clear in due time.

Though here is a word of warning-you may grow to love this person but remember they are not yours to keep. Their purpose isn't to save you but show you how to save yourself. And once this is fulfilled; the halo lifts and the angel leaves their body as the person exists in your life. They will be a stranger to you once more.

-Lang Leav

-/-

She needed help.

Her heart was pounding in her ears, adrenaline coursing through her veins, and blood running down her side. When she slid into an alleyway that night to find a place to sleep she hadn't expected to find one of his men waiting for her in the shadows. Her exhausted body hadn't been able to react as fast normal and, although she had been able to dodge the bullet somewhat, it had found its way through her side. She began to run immediately wanting to put as much distance between her and the shooter as possible. It wasn't likely that he would follow her, no, that had just been a warning, she knew when they were out to kill her and that wasn't it. But that didn't mean he wouldn't take it upon himself to finish her off.

She was already exhausted making her more susceptible to infection, especially considering she had gotten into a scuffle with one of His men earlier in the day which lead to her rolling around in a wet ditch, soaking her completely.

She could get a motel room and try to clean herself up but it was too risky, her cash supply was running low and she was already in too much trouble with the police in the UK as it was. She didn't need the police and His men up her ass at the same time.

She stumbled through the empty streets trying to fight back the tears that threatened to roll down her cheeks. As much as she hated to admit it, she needed help. She turned a corner and a wave of relief washed over her at the sight of a lone shop with its lights still on. She forced her feet to move a bit faster. All she had to do was get across the street-the thought was cut short as her knees gave out and she was sent tumbling face first onto the sidewalk.

She grit her teeth as pain shot through her entire body, a few stray tears running down the black paint around her eyes and into the fabric of the black balaclava covering her nose and mouth. A taxi started driving towards her and panic set in. She was vulnerable, completely out in the open and if the driver or it's occupants called the police she'd be screwed. She wouldn't be able to stop them and she'd be stripped of everything that was protecting her including the backpack that contained her entire life.

She sat up and managed to retreat into the shadows, the effort causing her vision to blur and her head to lull to the side as unconsciousness began to creep up on her. She glanced back down at her side and slammed her eyes shut at the small pool blood already beginning to form beside her. If someone attacked her now she wouldn't be able to fight back. When the car stopped in front of her, her heart felt as if it was going to beat out of her chest. This was it, game over, she lost. She hung her head and focused intently on the ground hoping the occupants of the taxi wouldn't notice her but of course they had to live at the door she was propped up against.

"Are you alright?" The first man asked.

"Obviously not John, she's been shot." A deeper voice replied.

She sighed shakily and looked up at the two men, the only thing visible to both were her green eyes.

"C-can you help me? I can't g-go to a hospital, p-please help." She pleaded. If she could just get them to take her in and stitch her up she could be long gone by morning.

The shorter man stooped down beside her and scooped her up in his arms without hesitation, trying not to jostle her too much as he carried her up a flight of stairs and into their flat.

Black dots danced in front of her eyes as she continued to beg the man carrying her not to call the police or take her to the hospital.

"You can't...the police...don't...arrest...no...please..." She threw her head back and forth trying to shake away the darkness that was threatening to take her. As the taller man opened the door to their flat she lost her battle, her head falling limply to the side as she slipped into oblivion.

-/-

"So what now? Do we ring the police?" The man carrying the now unconscious girl asked.

"John, if she wanted the police, I don't think she would have nearly bled out on the streets. She doesn't want anyone to know she's here." His flat mate said matter-of-factly as he shed his trademark black coat and navy scarf.

"Well then, I guess I'll see about cleaning her up." The shorter man replied, carefully laying the girl down on the surprisingly clean table that was usually covered in specimens, papers, and other scientific equipment. Sherlock heard water running as he collapsed onto the sofa and over the sounds of water hitting the sink, he could hear the rustle of light fabric and water swishing around.

John carefully wiped blood and paint away and began checking for any more injuries as he peeled away the girl's layers of clothing. Slightly uncomfortable with having an unconscious and very naked woman on his table, he had lain a towel across her chest and hips. There was no telling what would happen if she woke up and realized she was undressed and on a stranger's table.

Finding nothing life-threatening besides the gunshot wound but noting the yellow bruises on her ribs and fading scars that seemed to cover her from toe to shoulders, he tilted her forward to check her back. He stared at the marking for a while before finally leaning around the doorway, making eye contact with a lounging Sherlock.

"You might want to see this."

"I'm not sure I want to see you man-handling some poor girl, but if you insist." John had an arm across her chest, supporting her weight on it to allow the girl's back to be clearly seen. On her left shoulder blade was a raised, pink scar in the shape of an M. Sherlock ran his middle finger over it and guessed the mark to be a few years old.

"What do you make of it?" John asked in a concerned tone.

"It's a branding, to prove ownership of something, like they do with livestock." Sherlock's gaze followed her spine, noticing random scars decorating the skin, most likely from a knife, and patches of unevenly healed skin that could only come from being burned.

"She's clearly not livestock." John looked confused and a little horrified.

"Clearly. But she is someone's property. At least, they seem to think so." Sherlock looked a little excited at the thought.

"No. She's not property, she's a human being." John didn't miss Sherlock's interest, although he was still disgusted at the thought of someone owning another person.

"Your human being is getting cold." Sherlock remarked, walking out with an amused look.

It was morning before John Watson had finished stitching and cleaning the wound of the girl they had found on their doorstep. After deeming his stitch jobs satisfactory and cleaning up his medical supplies he turned to his flat mate who hadn't left his spot on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling.

"Is there anything we could cover her up with?"

"What's wrong with the way she is now?" Sherlock seemed to find entertainment in John's obvious discomfort at the young woman's lack of clothing.

Ignoring Sherlock's teasing, John asked, "Would Mrs. Hudson have any clothing she could lend?"

Sherlock glanced at the girl and shook his head. "Her clothes wouldn't fit. This girl's chest and hips are larger than Mrs. Hudson's. I think one of your shirts might work and a pair of my night pants. Her legs seem to be longer than yours."

After carefully depositing her on the couch, John went to gather up the clothing and pain medication. Sherlock took this opportunity to really look the girl over, trying to gain any clues about who she was.

Scars covered her body, much like the ones on her back, only larger. Without her face covered, Sherlock guessed she was early to mid-twenties. She obviously hadn't slept in days judging by the dark purple bags under her eyes, meaning she knew who ever she was running from was getting close. Looking at her legs, he could see toned muscles under the honey colored skin.

Even though she was well-rounded, Sherlock was surprised to see her skin stretched over her ribs, almost enough to be starving but not too much as to weaken her. So she wasn't fed on a daily basis.

Her natural tan was fading, backing Sherlock's previous observation of her being on the run for a while.

Taking a closer look at her mahogany colored hair, Sherlock could safely say that she hadn't had her hair cut in a few months, judging by the dead end that curled up at the tips. He also noticed how her hair seemed to be uneven in places meaning when she had done it she had done it herself.

The contents found in the woman's backpack told Sherlock her preference was guns, but she still frequently used knives judging by the condition and small flakes of dried blood left behind. The way she had hidden her face told him that she had some sort of military background or training, not very many people knew that covering the area around yours eyes would prevent facial recognition on camera. So she was on the run from someone who was doing whatever they could to find her, most likely the person who had branded and tortured her.

She had a small wad of cash and a few cards, all with different names, in a plastic baggie in a pocket inside of her jacket. Confirming to Sherlock that she was the one who had been robbing the small shops in London.

And that was all Sherlock could conclude about this strange woman for now. Once she came to though, he was sure he would know more.

-/-

When John returned an hour later he dressed the girl in one of his white T-shirt and a pair of Sherlock's grey night pants. After dressing her he studied the girl again, this time taking in her features.

It happens like this.

One day you meet someone and for some inexplicable reason, you feel more connected to this stranger than anyone else-closer to them than your closest family. Perhaps this person carries within them an angel-one sent to you for some higher purpose; to teach you an important lesson or to keep you safe during a perilous time. What you must do is trust them-even if they come hand in hand with pain and suffering-the reason for their presence will become clear in due time.

Though here is a word of warning-you may grow to love this person but remember they are not yours to keep. Their purpose isn't to save you but show you how to save yourself. And once this is fulfilled; the halo lifts and the angel leaves their body as the person exists in your life. They will be a stranger to you once more.

-Lang Leav

-/-

She needed help.

Her heart was pounding in her ears, adrenaline coursing through her veins, and blood running down her side. When she slid into an alleyway that night to find a place to sleep she hadn't expected to find one of his men waiting for her in the shadows. Her exhausted body hadn't been able to react as fast normal and, although she had been able to dodge the bullet somewhat, it had found its way through her side. She began to run immediately wanting to put as much distance between her and the shooter as possible. It wasn't likely that he would follow her, no, that had just been a warning, she knew when they were out to kill her and that wasn't it. But that didn't mean he wouldn't take it upon himself to finish her off.

She was already exhausted making her more susceptible to infection, especially considering she had gotten into a scuffle with one of His men earlier in the day which lead to her rolling around in a wet ditch, soaking her completely.

She could get a motel room and try to clean herself up but it was too risky, her cash supply was running low and she was already in too much trouble with the police in the UK as it was. She didn't need the police and His men up her ass at the same time.

She stumbled through the empty streets trying to fight back the tears that threatened to roll down her cheeks. As much as she hated to admit it, she needed help. She turned a corner and a wave of relief washed over her at the sight of a lone shop with its lights still on. She forced her feet to move a bit faster. All she had to do was get across the street-the thought was cut short as her knees gave out and she was sent tumbling face first onto the sidewalk.

She grit her teeth as pain shot through her entire body, a few stray tears running down the black paint around her eyes and into the fabric of the black balaclava covering her nose and mouth. A taxi started driving towards her and panic set in. She was vulnerable, completely out in the open and if the driver or it's occupants called the police she'd be screwed. She wouldn't be able to stop them and she'd be stripped of everything that was protecting her including the backpack that contained her entire life.

She sat up and managed to retreat into the shadows, the effort causing her vision to blur and her head to lull to the side as unconsciousness began to creep up on her. She glanced back down at her side and slammed her eyes shut at the small pool blood already beginning to form beside her. If someone attacked her now she wouldn't be able to fight back. When the car stopped in front of her, her heart felt as if it was going to beat out of her chest. This was it, game over, she lost. She hung her head and focused intently on the ground hoping the occupants of the taxi wouldn't notice her but of course they had to live at the door she was propped up against.

"Are you alright?" The first man asked.

"Obviously not John, she's been shot." A deeper voice replied.

She sighed shakily and looked up at the two men, the only thing visible to both were her green eyes.

"C-can you help me? I can't g-go to a hospital, p-please help." She pleaded. If she could just get them to take her in and stitch her up she could be long gone by morning.

The shorter man stooped down beside her and scooped her up in his arms without hesitation, trying not to jostle her too much as he carried her up a flight of stairs and into their flat.

Black dots danced in front of her eyes as she continued to beg the man carrying her not to call the police or take her to the hospital.

"You can't...the police...don't...arrest...no...please..." She threw her head back and forth trying to shake away the darkness that was threatening to take her. As the taller man opened the door to their flat she lost her battle, her head falling limply to the side as she slipped into oblivion.

-/-

"So what now? Do we ring the police?" The man carrying the now unconscious girl asked.

"John, if she wanted the police, I don't think she would have nearly bled out on the streets. She doesn't want anyone to know she's here." His flat mate said matter-of-factly as he shed his trademark black coat and navy scarf.

"Well then, I guess I'll see about cleaning her up." The shorter man replied, carefully laying the girl down on the surprisingly clean table that was usually covered in specimens, papers, and other scientific equipment. Sherlock heard water running as he collapsed onto the sofa and over the sounds of water hitting the sink, he could hear the rustle of light fabric and water swishing around.

John carefully wiped blood and paint away and began checking for any more injuries as he peeled away the girl's layers of clothing. Slightly uncomfortable with having an unconscious and very naked woman on his table, he had lain a towel across her chest and hips. There was no telling what would happen if she woke up and realized she was undressed and on a stranger's table.

Finding nothing life-threatening besides the gunshot wound but noting the yellow bruises on her ribs and fading scars that seemed to cover her from toe to shoulders, he tilted her forward to check her back. He stared at the marking for a while before finally leaning around the doorway, making eye contact with a lounging Sherlock.

"You might want to see this."

"I'm not sure I want to see you man-handling some poor girl, but if you insist." John had an arm across her chest, supporting her weight on it to allow the girl's back to be clearly seen. On her left shoulder blade was a raised, pink scar in the shape of an M. Sherlock ran his middle finger over it and guessed the mark to be a few years old.

"What do you make of it?" John asked in a concerned tone.

"It's a branding, to prove ownership of something, like they do with livestock." Sherlock's gaze followed her spine, noticing random scars decorating the skin, most likely from a knife, and patches of unevenly healed skin that could only come from being burned.

"She's clearly not livestock." John looked confused and a little horrified.

"Clearly. But she is someone's property. At least, they seem to think so." Sherlock looked a little excited at the thought.

"No. She's not property, she's a human being." John didn't miss Sherlock's interest, although he was still disgusted at the thought of someone owning another person.

"Your human being is getting cold." Sherlock remarked, walking out with an amused look.

It was morning before John Watson had finished stitching and cleaning the wound of the girl they had found on their doorstep. After deeming his stitch jobs satisfactory and cleaning up his medical supplies he turned to his flat mate who hadn't left his spot on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling.

"Is there anything we could cover her up with?"

"What's wrong with the way she is now?" Sherlock seemed to find entertainment in John's obvious discomfort at the young woman's lack of clothing.

Ignoring Sherlock's teasing, John asked, "Would Mrs. Hudson have any clothing she could lend?"

Sherlock glanced at the girl and shook his head. "Her clothes wouldn't fit. This girl's chest and hips are larger than Mrs. Hudson's. I think one of your shirts might work and a pair of my night pants. Her legs seem to be longer than yours."

After carefully depositing her on the couch, John went to gather up the clothing and pain medication. Sherlock took this opportunity to really look the girl over, trying to gain any clues about who she was.

Scars covered her body, much like the ones on her back, only larger. Without her face covered, Sherlock guessed she was early to mid-twenties. She obviously hadn't slept in days judging by the dark purple bags under her eyes, meaning she knew who ever she was running from was getting close. Looking at her legs, he could see toned muscles under the honey colored skin.

Even though she was well-rounded, Sherlock was surprised to see her skin stretched over her ribs, almost enough to be starving but not too much as to weaken her. So she wasn't fed on a daily basis.

Her natural tan was fading, backing Sherlock's previous observation of her being on the run for a while.

Taking a closer look at her mahogany colored hair, Sherlock could safely say that she hadn't had her hair cut in a few months, judging by the dead end that curled up at the tips. He also noticed how her hair seemed to be uneven in places meaning when she had done it she had done it herself.

The contents found in the woman's backpack told Sherlock her preference was guns, but she still frequently used knives judging by the condition and small flakes of dried blood left behind. The way she had hidden her face told him that she had some sort of military background or training, not very many people knew that covering the area around yours eyes would prevent facial recognition on camera. So she was on the run from someone who was doing whatever they could to find her, most likely the person who had branded and tortured her.

She had a small wad of cash and a few cards, all with different names, in a plastic baggie in a pocket inside of her jacket. Confirming to Sherlock that she was the one who had been robbing the small shops in London.

And that was all Sherlock could conclude about this strange woman for now. Once she came to though, he was sure he would know more.

-/-

When John returned an hour later he dressed the girl in one of his white T-shirt and a pair of Sherlock's grey night pants. After dressing her he studied the girl again, this time taking in her features.

Her oval face had full lips and big round eyes, cheek bones that were high but not as sharp as Sherlock's, and a nose that appeared to have been broken several times. Full breasts and hips created an hourglass and long arms and legs ended with slender fingers and toes. Wavy, mahogany hair ended at her elbows, the fineness of it visible in her eyebrows and eyelashes.

Whoever she was, she was bound to be missed.

-/-

Pain.

That's all she could remember. She couldn't even remember what He had said the murky gray liquid in the needles were but it hurt, it hurt so bad. Don't scream, don't scream, don't SCREAM!

His men pushed her thrashing arms and legs down on the table, strapping her down and injected her again and again. Her back arched up off the table as she begged between sobs and agonized screams for the pain to stop.

She could hear His voice inside her head, talking to her, telling her exactly what He was going to do to and she knew He wasn't bluffing.

She heard the words that she had cried out so often in her sleep yet knew she had never spoken aloud. "Please…Stop…I'll do anything…I just couldn't do it any longer…I couldn't take anymore…Please…Please don't do this to me." She felt the sob that ran through her and heard Him laugh as she cried.

"You should have listened baby, that's all you had to do. I own you, your never getting away from me." He cooed, she could hear the sadistic smile on his face growing wider as he spoke. She could feel hands tugging at her very core, ripping at her flesh as she was allowed to let out the real scream that was waiting in her throat for it's release.

"Does it hurt yet? Your own little piece of hell on earth?"

-/-

She had learned over the years that waking up right away wasn't a good thing to do. She kept her eyes closed and carefully listened to her surroundings, it was something that had saved her several times. When she heard nothing except for the steady sound of breathing of the person sitting across from her she carefully shifted her body to make sure she hadn't been tied up. Thankfully she wasn't but she could tell that the clothes on her body weren't hers meaning she had no weapons easily accessible.

"John. She's awake." Sherlock didn't move from his spot on the couch, deciding to let John handle the girl while he observed.

Her bright green eyes shot open immediately and slowly began to focus on her surroundings. There was a table between her and the man across from her, one of her switchblades laying in the center. Without hesitation she lunged for the blade and scrambled behind the couch, putting that much more distance between her and the curly haired man.

Sherlock sat perfectly still as he watched the woman lunge for the blade and stand behind the couch. Her jaw was set in determination, the slightest bit of panic evident in her eyes. John came in with a glass of water and the prescription bottle and the woman's eyes began to take in every detail about him. "I see you're finally awake. If you don't mind, I'd like to check your vitals."

The man who spoke was easy enough to read, he was open with emotions and reactions and the way he stood unguarded. His haircut, and the way he held himself said military. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he looked her over. He must be the doctor, she concluded.

The taller man was a different story however. She took in his dark suit that covered his long, pale limbs. gun-metal blue eyes held no emotion in them as he watched her; his legs crossed, his fingers steepled, his tailored clothing. Glancing behind him she saw experiments, papers and scientific equipment scattered where ever there was space. He was smart, always thinking, always looking for something to do, something to solve. He was deducing her with a completely blank expression, trying to take in every little detail about her, gauging her reactions to the situation she was in.

What attracted Sherlock the most about this girl was the caged animal like demeanor, the scars, the branding, and the puzzle surrounding her. Judging by her reactions so far he didn't think she was going to be a particularly pleasant study. Good. He didn't want this to be too easy.

Clearing his throat, John broke the intense silence between the two, "I'm not going to hurt you I just want to be sure you're alright." Her eyes cut over to him and sized him up.

She didn't think the doctor was a threat but he did have military training and she was injured. Maybe she was just being paranoid but paranoia wasn't always a bad thing when you were on the run. She had to think this through before she let him get any closer. There were three doors in the room, one was most likely a bathroom, one a bedroom. The door to the left of her was slightly cracked open and she could see the corner of a bath mat. The door to the right was closed and the door beside it had shoes sitting beside it. Okay so that was the exit, now she had to decide it she could trust these men.

John made a move towards the girl and she pulled out her switch blade, holding it out in front of her and if looks could kill, his body would already be cold.

The man stepped towards her and she held her knife out in front of her in warning. She needed more time to think about this. Judging by the amount of sunlight in the room she guessed it to be around 11. It was about 1:30 last night when she was shot meaning they had had almost 11 hours to call the police but here she was still at their flat. Maybe she could trust them.

Clearing his throat again, John decided to take a different approach, "I'm John Watson and this is Sherlock Holmes. I'm a doctor and he's a consulting detective. Do you have a name?"

Sherlock snorted beside him. "Don't be daft, of course she has a name." When John turned back to the girl she nodded her head.

"Syn."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to anyone who has read my story! Sorry about the long wait! Please let me know what you think!

You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.'

-Eleanor Roosevelt

* * *

Syn let the doctor check her vitals and change her bandages but refused to close her switch blade. She tried not to shy away at his touch but it had been a long time since she had had any friendly touch especially from a man. But perhaps these men could help her, the doctor had said his friend was a consulting detective and she could tell he was smart but she couldn't tell just how good he really was.

"Why haven't you called the police?" She asked after John finished rewrapping her wounds. She had watched him carefully the entire time, making sure he didn't try to threaten her and because she really needed to learn how to patch something like this on her own. She had gotten lucky over the past few years when she had gotten hurt. She usually had a way to stay hidden until she could clean herself up and she had been… _gifted_  with the ability to heal fast as well so she usually wasn't down for long. But her body had been too exhausted to do it last night and she had nowhere to go. Even now she was struggling to keep her eyes open.

"You asked us not to." Sherlock stated simply, as if it was an everyday occurrence that they found wounded people on their doorsteps begging to not be taken to the hospital. But something told her that that wasn't true.

"Yes but after going through my things and finding the small arsenal in my bag I assumed you would have." It was a bit unsettling to her that they seemed perfectly alright with the fact that there was a dangerous criminal in their flat.

"How did you," John started but was cut off by Syn.

"Know that you had went through my things? Easy, curiosity always gets the best of everyone, John."

"Right. Well, I'm going to make breakfast." John said more to himself than anyone, quickly retreating into the kitchen. As soon as John disappeared Sherlock sat up in his seat, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.  _He's getting ready to tell me his deductions._  She said to herself with a smirk.

"From what I've gathered, you're in your mid-20's and not originally from London, judging by your fading tan and American accent. The branding on your shoulder suggests that someone thinks they own you. It obviously wasn't pleasant scarring you physically but not emotionally, suggesting you've been capture several times but refuse to acknowledge it happened.

You have 20 small circular scars on your body, 5 on of your both arms and legs, most likely from a large needle. Now what you were given I'm not sure but I know it wasn't drugs, so whoever branded you also injected you with something.

The numerous scars on your body says you were tortured and after looking through the contents of your bag I'd say you have something they want and it's obviously something of importance since you've been running from them for at least 6 years judging by the fading of your scars.

Now, to make my intentions clear; I find you situation interesting. I plan on finding out as much as I can about your past. Not for your sake, mind you, but because I love puzzles, and you, my dear, are puzzling.

What I ask of you is that you do not touch my experiments, stay out of my way, and do not bore me. I'm not here to coddle you, that's John's job, I'm here to unravel you." He stood abruptly, brushing his way past her and leaving.

Closing her switch blade she sat in her previous spot on the couch and tried to think of the options she had. She knew she could only lead her assailants astray for so long especially since they knew she had been shot. The diversion she had set up a few days ago hadn't lasted as long as she hoped, last night being proof that they were getting quicker at figuring out her tricks. But she was  _so_ incredibly close. After working with Him for 4 years she knew all His habits and patterns but by the time she had tracked Him to a certain location He would already be 2 steps ahead of her. However, one of her contacts reached out to her a few weeks ago and told her He was here in London. She didn't think these men were in any danger because of her and she didn't think his men would come after her knowing she was injured.

_It was just a warning_ , she reminded herself,  _they want you out of action long enough for them to get a head start._ Satisfied that there wasn't any immediate threat she curled up as best she could without hurting herself more and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

-/-

The sound of a door slamming shut made her jolt awake and unconsciously flick open the blade in her hand. Her side screamed out in protest at the sudden movement and she ground her teeth to stop from crying out. As she fell back to her previous spot on the couch and the last bit of blurriness of sleep left her eyes she realized that it had been John who had slammed the door shut.

On the table beside her was a note with her name on it that she didn't bother to read because she already knew what it said. The clock in front of her read 8 am meaning John was going to work and would most likely be home by 5 that evening. Sitting up, slowly this time, she rubbed her eyes and let her mind continue to run endless scenarios, statistics, and possibilities for that day. The silence of the flat meant Sherlock was gone as well so there was no one to stop her from walking out the door and disappearing forever but something about being here made her feel safe. It was a completely terrifying feeling.

Keeping her switchblade in hand she slowly stood and moseyed into the kitchen. Beakers and microscopes and notebooks and chemicals took up the entire table and most of the countertops. Opening the fridge she couldn't help but chuckle at the decapitated head and the variation of chopped up body parts.  _Always busy aren't you, Mr. Holmes?_ Wandering into a bedroom and surveying the room that was undoubtedly Sherlock she realized why she felt so safe here. Not only did Sherlock and John have the ability to help her find Him, but she had finally found someone who was like her.

She scoffed out loud at herself. "Sentiment gets people killed, Syn and we can't have that." Poking around in his room a bit more she found her backpack and was pleased to see all of its contents still there. Stepping into the adjoining bathroom she changed into the extra set of clothes she kept in her bag and smiled in contentment at her reflection. She had exchanged the night pants and sleep shirt for a gray T-shirt, her brothers black leather jacket, and a pair of black jeans. She was on the run, what did you expect? With her bag slung over her shoulder, not wanting to be separated from it again, she started her search for her shoes and clothes, relieved to find that Doctor Watson had bagged them up for her in the kitchen.

After inspecting her clothing she knew there would be no saving the blood soaked garments and the little bit of blood that had gotten onto her well-worn black combat boots blended in with the years of caked on mud and dirt. Thankfully none of the blood had gotten onto her balaclava. Sitting back on the couch she reveled in the silence, finally allowing her mind to take over, trying to sort through what was important and what needed to be deleted as she began to clean her weapons.

-/-

"Syn!" Sherlock ran up the flight of stairs, his entire body humming with excitement as he threw the door open to their flat. "Syn, we have a case!" She had just finished cleaning her Colt 1911 when Sherlock came running in. "What do you mean  _we_ have a case?" Skirting around her he picked the newspaper up off the table in front of her and skimmed over the front page until he found what he was looking for. "Detective Inspector Lestrade called. He wants me to go look at a body that was found in Thames. He thinks it may be connected to the bodies that have been found in Manchester and Birmingham."

She tightened her grip on her gun at the mention of the two places where she had last killed. If DI Lestrade knew the two bodies were connected how much more did they know about her? Maybe it was time to hack into their database and find out. "So what does it have to do with me?"

"I want to see how smart you are. You were able to deduce me and John within a matter of seconds and now I want to see what you can do at a crime scene." She nearly laughed out loud at the man. "Come on Sherlock, I thought you were smarter than this! Do you think running around with black paint around my eyes and a balaclava around my face is just some sort of fashion statement? If I go to the crime scene with you, with or without all of that, someone is bound to recognize me."

Sherlock simply smiled.

-/-

She felt completely exposed as she stepped out of the cab and onto the wet soil of the park. She had exchanged her leather jacket for one of Sherlock's coats, and wrapped around her nose and mouth in place of her balaclava was one of Sherlock's black scarves. Her hair had been tied back in a bun and hidden by the sweatshirts hood and she had taken a pair of John's sunglasses to cover her eyes. For the first time in her life she was grateful for the cold weather of England. She could wear what she was wearing now and not many people would question it considering they were all dressed nearly the same way.

She didn't like the idea of being out during the daylight but she decided maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. She would be able to get a feel for her surroundings and it would be a lot easier to see if someone was trailing her. As she hurried to catch up to Sherlock's long strides she felt herself begin to panic at the sight of all the officers they were approaching. Any one of them could recognize her and any one of them could be working with Him and kill her right now.

Sensing the woman's discomfort Sherlock tried to reassure her. "Don't worry, they're all simple incompetent fools."

"Sherlock, you can't just bring anyone to a bloody crime scene!" Lestrade exasperated when he saw Syn trailing behind Sherlock. "She's not 'anyone', she's a friend of John's." He said without breaking stride. Syn refused to look directly at the DI for fear that he would recognize her. She knew she was just being paranoid but paranoia had saved her life more than once. She quickly followed Sherlock under the yellow police tape and through the wrought iron gates of the gardens.

"Lara Bishop, twenty-two, stabbed 8 times after suffering a beating." Lestrade gestured to the woman lying in a pool of blood. "Where's John?"

"Work. Who found her?" Sherlock circled the body slowly before crouching down.

"Her husband. Said she never came home from work last night so he followed her usual way home and found her here." The DI nodded towards a distressed man leaning against the squad car.

Syn felt a bit odd staring at the body in front of her knowing she, for the first time in a long time, wasn't the one who put it there. The woman laying on her side was very pretty and it was almost a shame that she had to be murdered but then again Syn did love solving crimes. She treaded carefully around the crime scene as Sherlock glanced around the body, noting the set of almost invisible footprints that had been left behind. The slightly flattened patches of grass were pointing both towards and away from him. Looking behind him to see that everyone was watching, he noticed Syn's eyes weren't on him, but instead on the almost invisible trail.  _Oh, she_ _ **is**_ _clever._

"Is she…like you?" Lestrade asked taking in her jeans, boots, scarf, and jacket. He couldn't help but feel that there was something off with this girl but he couldn't figure out what it was. "Not exactly. She just notices more that the average idiot." Sherlock smiled fondly at Syn, something that wasn't missed by the others. "What did you say her name was?"

Syn began following the suspect's footsteps, placing herself in his shoes trying to see what he saw. The strides were longer than her's but the shoe size was nearly the same _._ Stepping carefully around the crime scene Sherlock pulled her away from the prying officers. "Tell me what you see." She looked back at the others before turning her gaze to Sherlock, unsure if she should speak. "Go on, I know you see it."

"The suspect is a male, mid 30's, size 10 shoe, about 6'3, athletic, slight limp in his left leg judging by the way the left footprint is more defined in the grass. There's a pale ring around her ring finger so she was having an affair. A majority of the stab wounds are to the stomach and her attacker used a serrated blade, maybe a SOG or a SK3. Judging by the depth of the wounds and the way she was cut I'd say SK3 just because it's a longer knife. So whoever did this knew she was pregnant and was furious about it. How do I know she's pregnant you ask? Receipt from a baby store sticking out of her front pocket and she's fat yes, but not fat-fat, she's pregnant fat. It could be either man that did the stabbing because either man could've been mad. My guess is the husband did it due to the fact that she's having an affair and she's pregnant with her lover's baby and he found out. Look at her arms, see the bruising? It's in various stages of healing which means tonight wasn't the only night she was beaten."

Sherlock couldn't suppress the small smile that spread across his face. "Let's have a chat with the husband then, shall we?" Ducking back under the police tape Syn stuck close to Sherlock, growing increasingly on edge as the amount of officers became more and more as they reached the husband. He put on a rather believable show of sobbing and he almost fooled Syn but there was something about him that didn't sit right with her.

"The victim was your lover?" Sherlock asked.

"Wife," the man corrected.

"Have you ever laid your hands on you wife before last night?"

"How dare you suggest that I was the one who did this to her!" The man curled his hands into fists, one arm pulled tighter to his side than the other. Syn focused on that arm, watching his fingers twitch and missed what Sherlock said next.

"You basard!" Face red with rage, spit flying, the man made a move towards his back and Syn reacted.

_Click._  The sound of the safety on a gun being switched off made everyone freeze. All eyes turned to Syn, who had a Glock pressed to the side of the man's temple. She hadn't planned on things escalating to this point, but she didn't want to be unprepared. She had a gun holstered at her side but she didn't want to take it out for fear someone would recognize it.

Reaching for his own gun, Lestrade found his holster to be empty. Looking closer at the gun in the woman's hands he realized it was his.  _Dammit, this was not good._

Sherlock took in her stance, not unlike John's when he held a gun. The scarf had ridden down on her face, just low enough to see her set jaw. "Gun underneath the sweatshirt and the knife is holstered to his left leg. He doesn't have a limp, his leg is just weighed down."

As officers cuffed the man, Sherlock bent down and pulled out the bloodied knife. Bastard hadn't even gone home to clean it. Syn casually flicked the safety back on and deposited the gun back into his holster at Lestrade's hip.

"Sherlock, I can't have your girlfriend stealing my gun whenever it suits her. It's bad enough having you steal my badge. I really should report her." Syn stiffened beside him, her heartbeat picking up as panic rose up within her. She hadn't meant to cause trouble, believe it or not, she just wanted to be prepared in case something happened, which it did.

"But you won't," the taller man said confidentially, turning towards the street and hailing a cab.

 


	3. Chapter 3

I believe everything happens for a reason. People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they're right, you believe lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.

-Marilyn Monroe

* * *

Over the years she always had a method to her madness, a plan, a reason to do what she was doing. For nearly her entire life that plan has been to stop Him. It didn't matter what he had done to her, she had seen revenge make people go crazy and she refused to die completely out of her mind. He had to be stopped and she was the only one who could do it.

She had accepted that she would most likely die before she could accomplish her goal but she refused to let Him have the satisfaction of knowing that. She was going to fight and if she died, she was going down swinging. She had accepted that there would be no happy ending if she brought His network down, sure there would be a rush of emotions ranging from accomplishment, to pride, and to joy, but then it would be over and it was over she would be empty.

And she was okay with that.

"John seems to think that you're some wounded animal, completely helpless. But there's more to you then that isn't there? You're relatively clever but I assume you don't want this to become common knowledge so John doesn't need to know just yet. I will warn you though, he's going to tip toe around you until her realizes that you aren't going to go on a murdering spree at any moment." She pulled away from her thoughts and glared at Sherlock. "I'm not completely helpless and I don't just go on murdering sprees, its self-defense."

"I've arranged for Molly to pick you up at Baker Street and take you shopping for new clothes tonight. You two are around the same age I think you'll get along quiet well. She works at the morgue at St. Bart's and I told her you're a friend of John's who just went through a rather traumatic event that has left you mute and physically scarred. This way you will be able to stay covered and quiet."

Syn tilted her head to the side and tried to read the man sitting across from her. "Why are you doing this?"

"I'm a consulting detective, and you are a case that needs to be solved." He stated simply, not turning his gaze away from the window. He didn't want to admit out loud that he didn't particularly mind the woman's company. It was refreshing to have another mind that worked like his accompanying him to the crime scene today.

A tingling sensation ran up Syn's left side and turning her attention away from the man across from her she scanned the crowd and found one of His men. As her eyes locked with his he began to tap his right temple.  _3, pause, 4, pause, 1, pause, 3, pause, 4, pause, 1 pause._

"Excuse me sir? I need out." Sherlock shot her a questioning glance as the taxi pulled to the side. "They're watching you aren't they?" Sherlock turned in his seat until he found the man. "Ex-military, with a rather large envelope in his left coat pocket." He pointed out as Syn began to readjust the scarf and glasses.

"I know, he's an informant. See in every organization there are men who have been injured but can still be useful so they're given the title of informant. They carry information between organizations, like messages from one leader to the next. The code he tapped out, 3-4-1, it means he has urgent information and he's alone. Don't follow me Sherlock, I don't need your blood on my hands." Stepping out of the cab, Syn took in every detail of her surroundings. It wasn't likely that another one of His men would be there, informants were protected and if one were to be killed it'd be full on warfare between organizations. As the taxi pulled away and she was sure that Sherlock wasn't going to follow her she began walking towards the man. As she neared him he pulled out a manila folder from his left coat pocket and as Sherlock had said it was rather full. The possibility of it being a bomb ran through her mind and she considered turning around as she stood in front of the man but before she could make up her mind two muffled gunshots were fired.

She instinctively ducked and waited for the pain but instead of hitting her she felt the man's blood spray her as the two shots hit him. People in the streets began to scream and panic when they realized what had just happened. The two shots had entered the left side of his back and exited though the front of his chest leaving a gaping hole. There would be too much chaos to try to find the shooter and she could already hear the police sirens nearing so she took the envelope and ran like hell.

Her heart was pounding in her ears as she sprinted down the street. She knew she was covered in blood but she couldn't stop.  _Why shoot the informant? She was right there! Hell she hadn't even sensed the shooter!_ Her mind was racing with possibilities but the one thing she knew for sure was that whatever was in this envelope shouldn't be in her hands.

A chill ran down her spine and she willed her legs to move faster, shoving aside people who got in her way. She was being followed and she didn't want to risk looking behind her and running into something or someone.

Her legs were beginning to ache and she knew there would be only one way to end this if she wanted to keep Sherlock and John out of danger. She ducked into an alleyway and hid behind a dumpster, making quick use of the few precious seconds she had before whoever was following her stepped into the alleyway. She pulled her gun out from its holster on her side and her hand came back bloody. Her adrenaline had been pumping so fast that she hadn't felt her wound rip open while she was running.

As the rapid footsteps grew closer another chill ran down her spine.  _There was more than one._ She stepped out from her hiding spot, gun drawn and ready to shoot when she was sent to the ground by the crushing weight of her attacker's companion. She spluttered and coughed as she tried to catch the breath that had been knocked out of her. Her lungs felt like they were on fire every time she took a breath and she had to stop herself from crying out at the pain. Her gun and the envelope were kicked from her hands as a pair of muscular arms wrapped around her neck and middle. Her glasses had fallen off when she fell and her scarf had come loose and sagged down around her neck leaving her completely exposed.

The clothes the woman in front of her was wearing was unlike anything Syn had ever seen any of His men wear before. She wore a skin tight navy cat suit and her face was covered just like Syn's. The only thing she could see being her bright blue eyes and brunette ponytail. "Who the hell are you?" Syn demanded.

As the woman approached, Syn lifted her legs and sent the woman stumbling backwards. Slamming her head back she connected with the man's face. "You little bitch!" His grip loosened as he momentarily lost focus and she used that to her advantage and sent an elbow flying towards his face.

Almost as soon as her feet touched the ground the edge of a plastic pipe connected with the side of her face, blood gushing from her nose and lip, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth. A kick in the stomach from the woman and pain blossomed throughout her entire body.  _Survive. You have to survive._ When the next kick came she rolled onto her stomach and reached for the first thing she could find. As the woman lifted her leg to kick for the third time Syn spun herself to knock the woman's leg out from underneath her and drive the shard of glass she found into her stomach.  _Kill, kill, kill!_ The woman's companion barreled into Syn from the side, face covered in blood from the gash above his eyebrow, before the glass could pierce her skin.

Landing on her side Syn twisted and drove her glass into the first body part she could find. The glass found his thigh and she managed to roll herself out from underneath him as he screamed out in pain.  _Who were these people?_  The woman grabbed a fist full of Syn's curls and threw her against a brick wall. _Punch, kick, block, kick, block, punch, kick._  Syn had recovered quickly and managed to block a few of the woman's blows, giving out some of her own until the man recovered.

Syn found herself back against the wall, this time with a hand constricting around her neck. She clawed at the man's hand as she kicked her legs, trying desperately to find anything to hit that would allow the man to loosen his grip. Her kicking only seemed to spur him on as she felt her body leave the wall and be lifted into the air.

_"This was it," She thought to herself. "all these years and you're going to be killed by people you weren't even after."_ Her body went limp as the man's hand tightened even more. Just as the darkness seemed to have finally taken its permanent hold on her the hand around her throat vanished and her body violently connected with a brick wall. It wasn't until she fell to the ground in a limp pile that her muddled mind realized she had been  _thrown._

" _Oni idut za toboy, ty yadovityye tvari."_

Syn curled herself away from the woman as best as she could, a heel slamming down on her right shoulder with a dull thud before the duo departed.

-/-

"Alright, Sherlock where the hell is she?" The sweet melody pouring from the violin stopped abruptly as the DI stormed in and threw a rather large file onto the table. To put it simply, Lestrade was pissed. For the last 10 years he had been trying to find The Ghost, gathering very single piece of information he could find on her, and no more than 2 hours ago he had let her into a  _bloody_   _crime scene._

"I don't know." To be honest Sherlock had not the slightest clue where Syn could be. After she had gotten out of the cab he had the driver circle back around only to find the place he had left her only moments ago swarming with police. After getting through and seeing the body he realized the gun the man had been shot with was a greater caliber than anything Syn owned. He searched the surrounding area and had been unable to find her or anything that could give him a clue as to who the shooter was.

John stood from his chair and began flipping through the file. His mouth agape with shock as he read through the file. "The Ghost?" He said more out loud than to himself.

"Yes, The Ghost. No one has a clue as to who she is. No one has ever seen her face and if they have they've never lived to talk about it. She's responsible for over 350 murders and possibly linked to over 100 more. Arson, murder, theft, blackmail, extortion, fraud, narcotics, the list goes on and on. Sometimes we'll be so close but then we won't see her for months at a time. A woman matching the description of the one that came with you to the crime scene was with a man when he was shot. A majority of the people are claiming it was her who shot him so where the hell is she!"

-/-

_You are weak. You always have been and always will be. Who do you think you are trying to destroy_ His  _network? Look at you! You can't even fight without your pretty little weapons to hide behind! You're pathetic! Worthless!_ Tears rolled down her bloodied face as she drug herself through the streets, His voice echoing through her mind the entire way. The sun had set a long time ago and she was relying heavily on the shadows to conceal her. If anyone saw her in the state she was in there would be no getting away.  _Weak, weak, weak! Someone is unfortunate enough to take you into their home and help you and now you act as if you've never had to take care of yourself._  Every fiber of her being was screaming out in pain. She just wanted it to be over.

A sob escaped her lips as she 221B came into view.  _Look how dependent you've become on the Doctor and the Detective. What have I told you about trusting people? Don't! You never listen you incompetent bitch!_ As she open the door she could hear voices coming from the flat but she couldn't find it in herself to care at the moment. She was tired of playing this game, tired of having to fear anyone who got the slightest glimpse of her face.

She drug herself up the steps one by one, fighting with herself to stay conscious. At the top she lunged for the closed door, desperate to have something to support her weight but instead the half latched door swung open and she collapsed in the doorway of 221B.

-/-

Syn's opened her eyes and immediately slammed them shut at the brightness of the room. Beside her machines beeped in a steady rhythm and she couldn't move her arms more than a few inches and  _oh god_  she was back in that awful room. Her eyes flew open as she began to panic, the machines shrill beeping becoming more erratic and the smell of antiseptics making her want to vomit. She tried to scream put the action nearly made her pass out from the pain. When Sherlock appeared in her blurred vision she gripped onto the sleeve of his coat for dear life. As long as Sherlock was here He wasn't here. Doctors moved around her trying to calm her down but she couldn't because there was needles in her and those needles were attached to bag with who the hell knows what running through her veins and she  _couldn't_ calm down.

The sharp, silver point of a needle caught her eye and she thrashed even more because she knew they were going to give her more and it was going to hurt so badly. She didn't want anymore, there had been a time when she had craved it, looked forward to the burn, but that had turned her into a monster and she didn't want to be a monster anymore.  _Sherlock why are you just standing there? Don't let them do this to me!_ The prick of the needle came and everything faded away.

-/-

"Bloody hell, Sherlock she shouldn't even be alive." John scanned the pages of the file Sherlock had swiped in disbelief. Sherlock handed him two photographs of the blood sample he had taken when they first met, the first was of a normal sample, and the second which was a picture of her sample. "Her blood cells are mutated, if I didn't know this was a blood sample I would have never been able to guess it. Wait until Lestrade sees this." "Question is," Sherlock began, turning his gaze away from the photographs to the unconscious woman who was full of surprises. "How?"

-/-

When she woke the second time John and Sherlock were at her side in an instant trying to keep her calm so the doctors wouldn't have to sedate her again. "Syn, you're at St Bart's hospital. You were admitted a day ago after you were attacked." After everything came back into focus she nodded numbly at the doctor. "They want to know what happened don't they?" John nodded. "They're going to arrest me if I don't tell them, aren't they?" He nodded again. She looked at her handcuffed wrist, and the blue sling her arm was in and screwed her eyes shut. "How bad is it?" Her voice was hoarse and her throat and chest felt like it was on fire when she spoke. "Your right shoulder was dislocated, you have stitches in your side, a few on your face, and some on your right hand, your lip is busted, you underwent surgery to stop the internal bleeding, two fractured ribs, and you've got pretty nasty bruising on your back and around your neck." Sherlock informed. She laid her head back against her pillow and tried to fight back the lump in her throat. She wasn't going to cry, she had done enough of that last night. At least no one had seen her and she'd be dammed if she sat here in front of Sherlock and John and  _cried._

So this was it. These were the options she had, there was no running, no getting away by some miracle, no fighting her way out. She was down for a few days and the police knew who she was, they couldn't be that blind.  _It's time._

"Bring Lestrade in, I'll talk to you two and him but no one else. Nothing leaves this room, nothing is recorded, and nothing is written down. Those are my terms." The door was opened and Sherlock informed the DI of Syn's terms. Agreeing he stood at the foot of her bed. "So the shooting-"

"Forget the shooting. I want to make a deal with you. I can tell you everything I know about the organization I worked for, about the people who I've killed and why, and I can tell you that I am the least of your worries right now. You haven't seen anything until you've seen Him and if you're smart you'll listen to what I have to say. I don't want any information leaked about what I say or who I am and I don't want any jail time for the shooting, I didn't do it. If you accept, I'd like to be uncuffed."

Lestrade crossed his arms over his chest and pursed his lips, looking completely unconvinced. "They poisoned me!" She gritted her teeth, her chest feeling as if it was on fire. A lifetime of secrets were on the tip of her tongue and he didn't believe her!  _Do you think anyone would believe a murderer? The only thing your good at is killing, lying, and manipulating people to get your way._ "I-I know the doctors have told you about my blood, it's mutated I shouldn't even be alive. There is no medical explanation as to why I am still breathing, believe me I know. The man who is trying to kill me did this, all those people I've killed were men who worked for Him. You  _need_ me."

The DI pulled the small key from his pocket and she didn't think she had even been so relieved to be able to move her arm. This was it, no turning back. No taking back anything that was about to be said, this could either be the best or dumbest thing she had ever done in her life. "Who's after you?" With a cautious deep breath her eyes locked with grey irises and she began to tell the story of what it was like to live with the devil himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to write a good portion of his chapter from Syn's point of view mainly because this is my first go with writing in third person and I'm not sure if I'm writing the other characters in a way that does them justice. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

You can chain me, you can torture me, you can even destroy this body, but you will never imprison my mind.

-Mahatma Gandhi

* * *

_The DI pulled the small key from his pocket and she didn't think she had even been so relieved to be able to move her arm. This was it, no turning back. No taking back anything that was about to be said, this could either be the best or dumbest thing she had ever done in her life. "Who's after you?" With a cautious deep breath her eyes locked with grey irises and she began to tell the story of what it was like to live with the devil himself._

-/-

"I'll save you the sob story and tell you what's important. My family was killed on my 16th birthday, my parents, my older brother, and my two younger twin siblings. I hid in a crawl space on the top floor of our house and when I smelled the smoke I crawled back out and grabbed whatever I could before the house collapsed. I ended up on the streets with a backpack full of weapons, a debit card, and about a thousand dollars in cash.

I was smart and I managed to stay hidden for a while, I used to cash to buy fake ID's and passports. I applied for fake credit cards and after I spent about 500 dollars I would get a new one. I used what little cash I had left to buy ammo, medical supplies, and protective gear. I managed to stay hidden for 4 years but I slipped up one day and got caught breaking into a convenience store. I tried to fight the cop off but he called for backup and soon there were 4 guys pinning me to the ground and slapping cuffs on my wrists.

I was shoved into the back of the police cruiser and as soon as the door slammed shut the cop's brain exploded. The other three lost their heads too in about the same second and I was in complete shock. The back window was busted out and I was yanked out by my hair and drugged with chloroform. When I woke up I was strapped to a metal table and He was standing over me. There was this serum he had come across, I had no idea what it was but he said it would make me into the perfect weapon. I was given 20 initial injections 5 in each arm and leg. I thought I was going to die, the pain-it was unimaginable.

The whole thing messed me up so bad I couldn't even remember my name. Trying to remember it was like getting on your tiptoes and trying to reach something on the top shelf but you're just a little too short and you can only brush your fingertips across it. He called me Syn and that became my new name.

It took to me for some reason and I lived through it. They tested me every day to see how I was progressing but I always held back. I never wanted them to know my full potential just in case. I was beaten and tortured into obedience and once they were sure I wouldn't run the first chance I got I was branded with an M on my back. I guess so that way if I ever got lost whoever found me would know who I belonged to.

I had to keep getting injections every few days because I would crash, almost go through some sort of withdraw. I climbed through the organization and in 6 months I was one of his personal consultants. I lived with him for 4 years, commanded my own group of elites. The best of the best, the only people who could kill without hesitation on a moment's notice and be gone before the body had time to hit the floor. I would follow him on business trips and negotiations and offer my opinion if I was asked for it and protect Him if things ever got a bit out of hand.

He has people all through the UK, America, Russia, Germany, France, Portugal, Spain and a majority of China and India. He does everything and anything; smuggling, assassinations, blackmail, drugs, you name it that crazy bastard does it.

I was given an assignment that required me and a few of the elites to kill a client's wife as a promise of what was to come to his children if he didn't pay up soon. I had been informed the wife had taken the children to school but when I stormed into the house she hadn't. They were all sitting on the couch watching telly and when I shot the mother the kids screamed and screamed and screamed. I couldn't leave behind any witnesses so I had to shoot the kids too, I had no choice. I remember staring at the bodies and feeling the adrenaline pumping through my veins and the dull craving for more of the serum and I realized I was a  _monster_. I was killing people the same way my family had been killed and for what?

When I got back to the mansion I waited until He was asleep and left. I've been running ever since. The people I killed have all been men that worked for him. I've been trying to take down his network for the last few years but it's so huge and I'm always having to run in the opposite direction because sometimes they're out to kill me but sometimes they're only out to warn me."

The room fell silent as she examined their expressions. The wheels in Sherlock's mind were working in overtime trying to decipher if what she was saying held any truth. Lestrade's jaw had fallen slack at some point during her story and she could see the possibility of her story being true beginning to dawn on him. John had complete and utter shock written across his face, his poor simple mind trying to comprehend what he had just heard.

Lestrade was the first to break the silence. "So what exactly…changed?" She toyed with an edge of the blanket she was covered with, carefully thinking about her response. "I'd rather not tell you. I want you to a least view me as somewhat human."

"D-do you still crave it? The serum?" The confusion plastered across John's face made a little more sense as she realized that he was probably viewing her from a medical standpoint. "Yes I do, I crave the burn that ran through my veins sometimes. I want to feel that buzz, the rush that I get with taking it and knowing that it's going to make me stronger. But it turned me into a monster and every time that craving gets a little too tempting I close my eyes and go back to my time working with Him and I relive everything I did to remind me why I don't need it. It doesn't erase the craving, it just dulls it to a tolerable level."

"Why warn you? Why not just kill you?" Sherlock finally asked. "I don't know, maybe because I'm getting too close and He wants to keep pushing me to see how long I'll be able to hold on to my sanity. I don't know why they don't just kill me."

"Perhaps this will help," Sherlock pulled out a stack of papers and set it in her lap. She picked up the first item off the pile, a photograph of a man and a woman she recognized. She flipped the picture over and her heart sank to her stomach. "Shit." Abandoning the photograph she skimmed through the papers on her lap, the urge to vomit becoming stronger with every page flip.

"The people who attacked me weren't His men. In fact I had no idea who they were or who they worked for or why they wanted me dead until now. These are lease agreements to flats just doors away from 221B and the people who are leasing them are top dollar assassins. This picture is of Felicity and Oliver Smoake. He was billionaire biochemist who was working for the CIA and while there he met Felicity who was an agent. Wedding bells rang and 6 months later they married and had a daughter. Not long after that they vanished, bank accounts wiped, the house was ransacked, all the cars were there, and a lot of people believed there had been foul play involved. They've been presumed dead considering no one has seen or hear from them in nearly 30 years.

This is a picture of Felicity and Oliver taken in Manchester 2 days ago. 4 days ago I killed in Manchester, 3 days ago in Birmingham, and then I came here. These papers are Oliver's lab notes, he was working on genetic mutations that could evolve the human race to a point of immorality when he disappeared. If they're still alive he could possibly be trying to recreate the serum."

She pinched the bridge of her nose as her mind raced with possibilities of what this could bring and what she needed to do now. It had been one thing knowing she was after His men, knowing most of the people she had killed, but this? She was completely blind to what this was, she had no idea what she was dealing with.

"In the cab you said the informant worked for M, correct?" She nodded her head. "Do you have any clue as to why he would want you to have this?"

"That's the thing Sherlock, I don't. It makes no sense for Him to give me this. He had to of known sending out an informant with these papers was going to get him killed. I don't understand why I wasn't shot too, I was right there for Christ's sake! None of this makes sense anymore. Smoake's people had two chances to kill me but they still let me live, why? Why beat me to a pulp and le- _oh_."  _You can't escape it darling, it was meant to be._

_-/-_

Syn spent the night watching the city below her come to life with sparkling lights and Saturday night party goers. She tried to distract her panicked mind from the tubes running medication through her veins by deducing people but not even that was able to calm her. Nurses came in periodically throughout the night to check her bandages and give her more medication and each time she would tense up until she realized that they were not a threat.

She rose with the sun, walking in circles as she tested her healing body. Her stomach was incredibly sore as was her back but it wasn't debilitating. It would slow her down sure but if she managed by some miracle to take it easy she would be healed by Monday. Hopefully.

A light knock at the door set her back on edge and a young pathologist stepped into the room with a bag of newly bought clothes and a warm smile. "I'm Molly, Sherlock sent me to bring you a change of clothes and your bag." Syn ripped the tubes out of her arm and thanked Molly for bringing her things.

She wasn't surprised when she found that the clothes and shoes he had gotten her fit perfectly, however she was a bit surprised at his choice of clothing; a light blue button up dress shirt, a grey button up vest, black slacks and matching boots. To keep her warm he had bought a black coat similar to his but shorter and a navy scarf.

It was obvious Sherlock had gotten her clothes, painfully so, but she wasn't complaining. While working for him she had been in uniform constantly and while on the run she was in whatever she could find that fit. At the bottom of the bag was a white remote with a red button in the center. Taped to the back of the remote was a note:  _Press the button and we will come –SH_. She shook her head and shoved the remote into her pants pocket. Next she armed herself, gun tucked in her back waist band, knife strapped to her ankle, switch blade and mobile in her pocket.

She had never made a call on her mobile before, only received them when her contacts reached out to her, but maybe it was time she start carrying it on her. Satisfied she checked herself out of the hospital and, after being given a prescription that she would never fill and scheduling a follow up appointment that she would never go to, she was free to leave. Molly was waiting for her by the elevator and they rode down to the lobby, Molly talking the entire way. She actually didn't mind Molly as much as she thought she would. She was so innocent and smart and Syn envied her a bit.

As they stepped out Syn pulled her scarf up around her nose and kept her head tilted down. They pushed their way through people coming and going in the lobby and then through people walking in the streets. She took slow deliberate steps as she tried to move her body as little as possible. Stepping towards the curb and waiting for a cab, her body stiffened as the cab pulled up in front of them.

"You go ahead Molly, I have to stay." The ringing persisted but she ignored it. "But Sherlock said-" Syn held up her good hand to stop her. "I bet he said a lot of things that weren't true, like I'm a 'friend' of John's who just went through a 'traumatic' event. Molly if you want to live go home right now." The woman's face paled as she nodded her head and hurried into the cab.

Turning her attention to her left side she expected to see one of Smoake's people but what she saw instead made her heart drop to her stomach. He hadn't changed any in the last 6 years, maybe just gotten a bit more muscular but that was it. 6'2 and 180 pounds of muscle came walking towards her with that stupid prefect smile plastered across his face.

His green eyes scanned over her disapprovingly as he stood in front of her, almost as if he could see all the cuts and bruises underneath her clothing. "You've gotten weaker. Your healing slower, your stamina is going to go next." Her thumb circled the red button in her pocket as she looked him over. A gun tucked between the waistband of his jeans and his white t-shirt. A knife was tucked into his black boots and in his black leather jacket was something that resembled a folder. "I know what's going to happen, I'm doing as best as I can given the circumstances. If you're here to kill me please go ahead, no need to chat about my condition before you do. But I know you're not going to do that because if you were I would've been dead already. So you're fishing for information that I'm not going to give you."

"I'm worried about you Syn. Please can we just talk somewhere privately?" She looked him over once more before reluctantly agreeing. There had been a point in time where he had been the only thing preventing her from losing her sanity. He had been one of the elites, her right hand man and their relationship grew over the years. She knew he loved her, that he still does, but she never felt the same way back. Love was human error and as soon as you let yourself love someone they became your pressure point. Without a pressure point it makes it hard for enemies to manipulate you. They have nothing to threaten you with, nothing to use for leverage. But what she felt towards him could potentially destroy her.

She trusted Sebastian Moran.

They chose a pub a few blocks down from the hospital and sat in a quiet corner in the back. "So what has the great Sebastian Moran so spooked?" He pulled a black folder from his jacket and set it in front of her. Inside was all the information on the assassins who had taken temporary residence on Baker Street. "The Smoake's have a 10 million price on your head. The boss wants to offer you protection and I think it would be a smart decision considering your new neighbors aren't the best." She laughed in his face.

"Has he suffered a stroke? Or does he expect me to be that stupid?" Sebastian sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest like he always did when he was mad. "Syn you need us. You're getting weaker." Glasses jumped and conversations momentarily ceased as she slammed her fist down on the table. "I am not  _weak_  and I do not _need_  the organization. The serum didn't make me who I am, my family did. The serum only enhanced what was already there and if I have to live with waiting a few extra days to heal then so be it." She stood slowly, ignoring the look he was giving her, and left.

-/-

Syn took her time getting back to Baker Street. Maybe it was a foolish thing for her to sit in the park and unravel every person that walked by, but there was a lot going on and she just needed time to think. She had half expected Sebastian to follow her but he hadn't and she was glad. As the sun set she vacated her spot on the bench and made the short walk back to 221B at a leisurely pace. John stormed past her as she stepped inside and slammed the door shut behind him. "Don't worry about him dear, they just had a domestic."

Syn pulled her scarf away from her face and gave the landlady a small smile. "Bored, is he?" She asked nodding upstairs. "I'm afraid so." As she slowly began to climb the stairs an uneasy feeling washed over her but before she had time to address it the entire building shook with the blast of an explosion. "Sherlock!"

-/-

Striding into the mess of a flat, Mycroft Holmes offered a tight smile to his younger brother. "Syn, this is Mycroft. Mycroft this is Syn." Sherlock said without looking up from his violin. Syn glared at the man and began to sharpen her arrowheads with more force than necessary.

Turning to face Syn, Mycroft offered another tight smile. "Out of all the flats in London-" Syn rolled her eyes and sighed irritably. "Mycroft don't start." Sherlock looked between the two in confusion. "I stopped your brother's assassination about a year ago," she explained. "However he seems to think he would've handled drinking rat poisoning and stopping a bullet from going through his brain just fine on his own."

Ignoring her Mycroft turned back to his brother. "Are you so bored of Doctor Watson that you had to take on another pet?" The elder Holmes looked over Syn with disgust. Her eyes sparked a dark shade as she squared up to him, arrow still in hand. Reaching forward, he caught her chin, turning her head side to side, getting a good look at her since she was no longer wearing anything to cover her face.

She was itching to ram an arrow though his wrist and break it but Mycroft was literally the British Government and he could have her killed with just one word. It was obvious that Mycroft didn't think highly of her, placing his distaste for her below that of the general public. Syn made a threatening sound in the back of her throat and tried to pull away. Mycroft smirked and tightened his hold, intent on displaying that he had the upper hand on the assassin. Her top lip curved into a snarl as she refused to look away, defying the man with her eyes.

"Oh I see why he drug you in; he always has loved a challenge." Sherlock noticed Syn's hand ball into tight fists and stepped between the two before the situation could escalate.

"Mycroft. That's enough." His voice was deep with an unspoken threat. His brother was known to push and Sherlock didn't know how Syn would react. "I'm sure Syn would appreciate it if you removed your pudgy fingers from her face." Retracting his hand, Mycroft made a show of wiping his hands on his handkerchief. "You always have been possessive with your toys Sherlock, even the broken ones."

In the next second Mycroft was doubled over trying to stop the flow blood running from his nose. Syn leaned down level with his ear and smiled. "Mr. Holmes, I don't think your brother would appreciate me decorating his flat with your innards so please, enough with the name calling. Understood?"

Mycroft straightened himself and gently dabbed at his nose with his bloodied handkerchief. "Of course." Syn smiled cheekily at the older Holmes brother and reclaimed her seat on the couch.

"Sherlock?" John came running up the stairs, his eyes taking in the chucks of glass scattered on the floor and the papers strewn in every direction. "John."

"I saw it on the telly, are you okay?" He glanced over at Mycroft with wide eyes and then over to Syn who smirked. "We're fine. Mycroft's trying to get Sherlock to take a case but he doesn't seem to understand that we're rather busy right now." Syn informed. Truth was they weren't busy at all, it was a case of sibling rivalry that she had picked up on as soon as Mycroft walked into the flat.

Mycroft tried his luck with John, explaining the case of Andrew West, an M16 employee who was found in a rail year with his head smashed in and a USB containing vital information about the Bruce-Partington missile project was missing. "Why'd you lie? You've got nothing on, not a single case. That's why the wall took a pounding," Syn glanced over the wall and chuckled at the chunks missing from yellow face that had been painted onto the wallpaper. "Why'd you tell your brother you were busy?"

"Sibling rivalry, John. I'm surprised you didn't pick up on it. The entire confrontation was simply oozing with it." Syn stood and threw her arrow at the wall, finding its mark in the center of the yellow eye as Sherlock's mobile began to ring. "Sherlock Holmes." Syn watched his eyes light up and his body straighten. "Get your things John," she said, pulling her coat on. "We have another case."

-/-

Everyone stared at the trio as the followed Lestrade through the Yard. He had slipped her the papers she had asked for while she was in the hospital before they stepped inside his office. "You like the funny cases, don't you? The surprising ones?" "Obviously," Sherlock muttered. "You'll love  _this._ That explosion…" "It wasn't a gas leak was it?" Syn asked, voicing the secret fear that had been festering since the explosion. "No. Made to  _look_  like one. Hardly anything was left of the place except for a strong box-a  _very_  strong box."

On Lestrade's desk was a white envelope addressed to Sherlock Holmes. "We've X-rayed it. It's not booby-trapped." "How reassuring," Sherlock mumbled after a moment's hesitation. "Syn?" "From the Czech Republic. She used a fountain pen, Parker Duofold iridium nib by the looks." John and Lestrade stared at her dumbfounded. "Bloody hell now there's two." She smiled. "Don't worry John, I tend to only do it when asked."

Sherlock picked up a letter opened and carefully slit open the envelope. Inside was a pink iPhone. " _The Study in Pink, the pink phone."_ Syn felt the color drain from her face. "You have one new message," The phone alerted. Four short pips and one longer one filled the silence that had fallen over the room. "Sherlock," her voice was barely above a whisper but everyone's attention turned to the teary eyed woman. "He's coming for me."

* * *

**I'm sorry if this chapter wasn't as great as the others I had a lot of explaining to do and I thought it was be best to write this chapter from Syn's point of view. PLease let me know what you thought of if you have any suggestions! Thanks for reading!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

Whoever fights the monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss with gaze back into you.

-Fredrich Nietzch

-/-

It felt like someone had knocked the breath out of her as she stumbled through Scotland Yard. The five pips, it was a reminder of how weak she'd been. Now he knew she was getting weaker and he was playing the game again. She pulled her scarf away from her face and stared at the nearest security camera.  _Here I am you bastards._  What was the point of staying hidden anymore?

"Syn!" John came running out, calling her name with Sherlock close behind. Why couldn't he just leave her alone! Why didn't they kick her out of Baker Street when they had the chance? She attracted trouble wherever she went and always hurt people, could they not see that?

"Syn, look at me. You need to breathe okay?" She hadn't realized she was hyperventilating until he had mentioned it but it seemed like no matter how hard she tried she couldn't stop. What was happening to her?! John held her face in his hands and tilted her head up so she would look at him. His thumbs gently brushed tears she hadn't realized she'd shed away from her face. She felt like she was going to be sick.

"The five p-pips are warnings," she explained as she tried to regain her composure. "Each one is going to be a-a puzzle of sorts. The first one is going to take you to the beginning and the next 3 are going to be timed puzzles and if you don't solve them in time someone will die. The last one, the longest pip, is the hardest and the stakes are going to be the highest." Her body was shaking almost as if she was shivering in the cold and her chest was so tight she was having trouble taking in a full breath. Had she been poisoned?

"You played the game." Sherlock was still trying to figure the woman out. His previous deductions had been correct (obviously) but there were still things he couldn't quite figure out about her. He found himself wanted to find out everything about her the longer she was around. She fascinated him like no one else ever had.

"He waited until I was starving and a few days away from dying of hypothermia. I tried to play the game but I was limited in how much I could do. I got past the first 4 puzzles but by the fifth I couldn't think straight. He was the one who tipped off the police about me breaking into the store. I didn't solve the puzzle, he won and I turned into a monster."

She pulled away from John and wiped the remaining wetness away from her face. "You said you knew the gas leak was a fake. How did you know?" She stepped over to the curb and tried to hail a cab. "It was obvious, John."

"Liar," Syn spun around and glared at Sherlock, silently challenging him to tell her just how she was lying. "I told Molly to text me when you two were in the cab but she never did. You were discharged at 3:30 in the afternoon yet you didn't arrive back at Baker Street until nearly midnight. You tensed when Lestrade mentioned the explosion and you immediately knew the answer. Afterwards you began fidgeting and your eyes grew distant. How did you know, Syn?"

She balled her hand into a fist and let her mouth run without thinking. "Sebastian Moran. He was one of the elites just like me and His confidant before me. I appointed him my second in command and we grew close over the years. He loves me and would never hurt me that's why he waited until I was in the building to set off the bomb. Sebastian said He wants to offer me protection but I declined so it's my fault this is happening." She wanted them to be mad at her, to hate her, because  _this was all her fault._

"You don't love him but you trust him, interesting." Sherlock couldn't understand why he felt so relieved by that. He shouldn't care one way or another who she's with, she's a client, nothing more. "I'm not mad, simply curious."

"Why! Why are you helping me! I am a murderer and I've put your lives in danger just by being near you! I just spoke to one of his men, men who are now trying to kill you two, and your 'just curious'? Hate me!" People had begun to stare at the trio as Syn's voice rose with her temper but she couldn't find it in her quiet down.

"Please, you supposed to hate me! I'm a freak!" Sherlock's grey eyes darkened instantly, a mixture between pain and anger flashing across his features and for a moment Syn wondered if she had stepped over some sort of imaginary line. She glanced over at John and found him staring at his friend with sympathy. In three long strides Sherlock's 6 foot fame was towering over Syn's 5'10 figure, the flecks of gold visible in his eyes.

"You are lost, you are hurt, and you need help. You are  _not_  a  _freak_." The anger faded away and was replaced by pain, it was fleeting but she had seen it and it left her wondering what had happened to him. "Sherlock-" "We have to get back to Baker Street." She let it drop for the moment as he brushed by her to hail a cab.

-/-

The exchange between Syn and Sherlock stayed at the front of her mind for the next 24 hours. It was worthless information, really, but she couldn't make herself delete it. Lestrade proved to be useful when she read the papers he had slipped her. He had ran facial recognition for the Queen's and she had been right, they had been following her but for a lot longer than she original thought.

While Sherlock and John spent their time in the lab Syn spent time with the homeless network she had set up, showing the picture of Felicity and Oliver around. When she arrived back at the lab at Bart's, John was rattling off everything he could deduce about the trainers that had been left in 221C. "So how'd I do?" "You only missed everything of importance John," Syn said as she picked up the shoe he had just set down.

It was then that Sherlock began telling the two about what he had found about the shoes and that's when it happened. He had stopped talking and his eyes had grown wide, his jaw slack, the slight intake of breath, he was back at the beginning. "Carl Powers."

The case was solved with 3 hours left and the first hostage was saved.

-/-

Lestrade called the three into his office first thing in the morning. Being at the Yard without her scarf to hide behind made her uneasy but Sherlock reassured her that in a few days she would no longer have anything to worry about. John took a seat in front of Lestrade's desk while Sherlock stared out the window. Syn's mind wandered back to yesterday again.

The pink phone beeped with a message alert. Three short pips and one long one followed by a picture of an abandoned car. First test passed. Almost as soon as the picture was received a phone outside of Lestrade's office began to ring. It was Sally Donovan who answered the phone and brought it into Lestrade's office. "Freak, it's for you." Things made a little more sense to her then.

As Sherlock took the call her mobile began to ring in her pocket. It was a text message from a blocked number.  _First, fifth, and eighth file on Detective Inspector Lestrade's desk may be of interest to you. –M_ She sat back and waited as Sherlock talked to Him through another hostage and as the DI asked if a car matching that in the picture had been reported missing. She was going to have to time this just right if she wanted to get away with this.

"Okay…great." Lestrade hung up the phone and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. "We've found it." She took that moment to pull her phone from her pocket and mutter curses under her breath. "Lestrade tell Sherlock and John I have to go down to Bart's to see Molly. I asked her to look at a sample of my blood and she thinks she may have found something." "I'll have Sherlock text you the address." He threw over his shoulder.

She let her phone slide from her hand and hit the floor as the three made for the exit. Bending down to pick it up she carried herself over to Lestrade's desk with a sense of purpose about her. She quickly pulled out the files she needed and made a show of hurrying after the three, walking just slow enough to stay a good distance behind them.

She ducked into the staircase as they waited for an elevator and took time to look over the case files she had grabbed. They were all recent homicide cases, nothing particularly interesting about them but Syn knew exactly what she was looking at and it made her sick. The people in the crime scene photos were the failures, the subjects whose bodies didn't accept the serum. One was contorted into an unnatural position, one's insides were liquefied, and another's heart had literally exploded in their chest.

They all came from different social backgrounds, different ages and races, the police never would've connected them but there was one thing that all three had in common; they had all been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now the real problem was finding out exactly where these people had been. They would've had to gone somewhere where they would've had to mingle with other people, somewhere where the scouts would've been able to watch their behaviors.

Another ring in her pocket signified another text.  _The Mansion. 9 o'clock. Don't be late. -M_  She tucked the files into the pocket of her coat and ran down the three flights of stairs to get to the lobby. As she waiting for a cab she left a voice message on Molly's phone. "Molly, it's Syn I need you to do a favor for me. If Sherlock calls for me tell him I'm there, if he comes to the morgue tell him he just missed me and I'm headed back to Baker Street. I'll explain everything later I just need you to go along with this. Thanks."

Giving up on trying to hail a cab she began the walk back towards Baker Street get phone rang again but this time with a phone call from a number she recognized. "Sebastian what do you want." A tingling ran up her spine and spinning around a familiar sleek black car came pulling up beside her. The things that happened in that car were things that would make her nightmare's run and hide. She slid her hand into her pocket and ran her thumb around the panic button as the driver rolled down the window. It was Sebastian. Of course it was.

"Boss said you might need some help for tonight. Said you might need a little bit of money and help." She sighed and irritably ran a hand through her hair. She had no cash in her bag and she didn't have another card yet. She had planned on getting one the night she had been shot but that hadn't exactly worked out. She wouldn't be let into the mansion wearing what she was and He knew that too. "Fine."

-/-

Their first stop was the hair salon where her awful dye job and knotted ends were taken care of. Then off the get acrylic nail to cover her horrendous real nails for the night.

At the dress shop she let Sebastian pick her dress and heels. It was a tradition that had started a long time ago between the two and something that still continued. After he paid for the dress and shoes she expected him to hand her the bag and be on his way but of course it couldn't just be that easy. "Boss wants me to escort you to the mansion tonight. He said he wants to be sure nothing happens to you."

She rolled her eyes. "Since when has he cared about what I do?" Sebastian opened the car door for her but she refused to move. "Since you being injected again could result in you working for the Queen's and believe me when I saw that He is nothing compared to what they are capable of. So you can either come with me and let me help you or let the Queen's keep testing until they find a successful subject." She chose to slide into the passenger seat.

"I know that's not the real reason why you're coming with me tonight," She mumbled. "You're trying to get more information on the Queen's. You could've just told me, I want them dead as much as He does." Her gut knotted up in a million different ways as they drove through London and only one thing kept going through her mind.

She was working for Him.

The ride to Sabastian's house was quiet. Syn spent her time trying to talk herself out of going tonight and Sebastian spent his time trying to stay focused on the road and not the woman beside him. "Do you think this will ever stop?" She finally asked as the car parked in front of the Victorian style mansion. "Will what stop?"

"Me. Do you think I'll ever be able to stopping running and killing?" He studied her carefully before he replied. "No," he murmured "I wish it did Syn." She wanted to scream and cry and kill herself so it could be  _over_  but she didn't let any emotion show as she stepped out of the car. Sebastian could see it though, he had known her long enough to pick up on her different behaviors. He could see the way the fire dimmed in her eyes and how the will to live seemed to disappear. He wished he could tell her but the time wasn't right. After tonight things would finally e set in motion and he could only hope she wouldn't hate him in the end.

-/-

Sebastian's house maid tended to Syn while he made arrangements for the night. Linda LaPointe was a small woman of 5'5 and nearing her seventies but she was better protection than any security system or guard dog. The first time Sun came to Sebastian's she snuck in through one of the back windows to avoid being detected on camera. As soon as the rubber soles of her boots came into contact with the hardwood floor Syn found herself pinned to the floor and her neck craned up by the vicious grip the woman had on her hair. Syn had never seen her coming.

In front of the dresser mirror in the guest bedroom where she spent more time than she liked to admit, her hair was done and her scars were covered with the glorious invention of makeup. Her hair was pulled in a million different directions and things were rubbed onto her face that made her skin feel as if it was going to suffocate. Linda talked the entire time non-stop.

Syn stared at her reflection in the mirror once Linda had finished, not recognizing the person staring back. Her hair had been trimmed and dyed blonde, the sides pinned away from her face and then ends of her hair in loose curls. The open back of the emerald gown Sebastian had chosen for her stopped at the small of her back and the front dipped down just low enough the show off her cleavage. Spinning around to examine her back she was stunned to see smooth, perfect skin opposed to the scar covered back she was used to seeing. She thanked the woman who had managed to transform her and looked herself over once more time before moving over to the bed to strap on her heels and gun holster. She toyed with the panic button Sherlock had given her, finding herself torn between wanting to get rid of it and wanting to keep it with her. She chose the latter and slid the small remote into same holster as her phone.

If they could pull this off they could stop him for good.

-/-

The party was in full swing when Sebastian passed the car keys to the valet. He rested his hand on the small of Syn's back as they approached the door, the bare skin contact making her tense. She was going to have to get used to the friendly touch of a man if she was going to make it through the night. They waited patiently in line as the head of security checked named off a guest list.

When it was their turn Syn flashed the man a warm smile trying her best to ignore the way he blatantly stared at her chest and the way Sebastian pulled her closer to him. "Excuse me sir? I'd appreciate it if you looked at my face opposed to my chest. I don't think your pregnant wife would like to get a phone call from me, do you?"

He floundered, not knowing quite what to say for a moment. "O-of course Mrs.?" "Moran." Their name was at the top of the page. "Sorry about the wait Mr. and Mrs. Moran. Right this way," The doorman opened the door to reveal around a hundred people, some sitting at candle lit tables, some dancing, and some standing around mingling with one another. The music was thankfully barely audible over the sound of the crowd. It was all so disgustingly familiar.

A few people noticed the duo as they made their way through the crowd to find their table and comments were made, just loud enough to be heard as they passed by tables.  _How did she get him? Probably just a good shag. She's probably in it for the money. Whore._  Their table was situated near the front of the dance floor, set up purposefully to block their line of sight from entrances and exits and windows. Someone was expecting them and it made her uneasy. "Can you see anything?" Sebastian perked up in his seat and looked around even though he knew it'd be futile. "No, there's too many people."

"Our name was at the top of an alphabetized list, they've been expecting us." She said, her mind racing as she sorted through the crowd in front of her. She tried to push away the fact that just below their feet was where she had been kept experimented on for almost a year, she tried to push away the fact that this is where she made her first cold blooded kill, that this was the place that turned her into a murdering machine. When she left this place she swore that the next time she came back she would come and kill everyone in here and burn this place to the ground.

But yet here she was.

"Syn, far left corner." She stood from her chair and glanced over her shoulder to see the man. "It's one of the two distributors," She confirmed. "I'm going to the bathroom. Wait until you can find the other one and I come back before you do anything."

She sashayed through the crowd of people with a sense of purpose. She knew this place like the back of her hand and knew exactly where she wanted to go. The top floor was where the Owner stayed and the ground level was where she and the others stayed during their time here and the underground facility was where they trained and tested and poked and prodded and punished. She'd be damned if she left this place empty handed.

Her phone vibrated against her leg and she mumbled curses underneath her breath as she fished it out of its holster.  _Look behind the picture by your head -M_  Syn rolled her eyes and glanced up and down the hall before pulling the gold picture frame away from the wall. A white envelope fell to the floor, her name scribbled across the top in His writing. She sighed irritably as she bend down to pick up the envelope and ripped the top open. "He can't just give things to me, no, he has to hide them and then text me because he's too fucking scared I'll kill him." She mumbled, pulling the paper out of the envelope with more force than necessary.

Inside was a copy of the adoption records for Raleigh Marie Queen.  _Leverage._

"And where do you think you're going?"

Syn spun around, her heart threatening to beat out of her chest. Felicity Queen stood in front of her and what was even worse was she hadn't even sensed her. "Felicity Queen." The woman in the light blue gown stalked towards Syn, an evil glint in her green eyes. If Syn hadn't known about her before she never guessed the woman standing in front of her was 54. The only thing giving away her age was the greying roots in her dirty blonde hair.  _She looks just like you, doesn't she?_

"It's an honor to finally meet you. I've heard so many good things about the progress you've made." Syn eyed her with extreme caution. Her mind was racing, deducing everything she could about the woman but finding nothing of use. "You planned all of this out. You knew He would tip me off and that I wouldn't be able to resist. You were so sure I was going to come you staged this here because you knew I would be tempted to sneak around. You knew the temptation would be too great for me to resist."

Felicity nodded her head in approval. "They were right about you, you are clever. You were correct about everything but yet here we stand." Syn shot the woman a murderous smile. "Who says I don't have my own reasons for being here?" She studied Syn intently for a moment before laughing in her face. "You won't kill me. I have something you need." She opened the matching blue clutch she was holding and pulled out a syringe filled with a light blue liquid. The light blue liquid.

"I've been told the serum is finally working its way out of your system. You're getting weaker, your abilities will be fading, the withdrawal symptoms will begin, and you'll be completely vulnerable. We wouldn't want that to happen now would we?" Her mouth watered at the sight of the syringe and she craved the feel of the serum running through her veins but it was wrong. No, no, no, she had to resist.

"So that's your plan? Bring me here to give me more?"

The bitch laughed again. "Of course not. I know about the paper in your hand and I also know about you addiction to this serum once it's in your system. I also know how bad your withdraw symptoms can be. This," she said, waving the blue vial back and forth. "Is to ensure you don't continue to look into this matter. You stay away, you continue to get more." It was her turn to laugh. "So you think I'm going to let you waltz over here and let you inject me again?" Something nagged at the back of her mind to turn around, it was barely there but she felt it. Glancing over her shoulder she saw two men standing behind her, two very big, strong, men.  _Your senses are going. You're going to be running blind in the streets if you don't get more._

"Sebastian Moran is...distracted at the moment so we have two options here. You can come peacefully, or we can drag you back downstairs and have some more fun."  _Take it. You know you want to. Remember how good it makes you feel? How strong it makes you? You need it._

"Kiss my ass." She was stronger than this. She wasn't going to go back, not after fighting for so long. She wasn't going to give in to these people. If she has to run blind in the streets then so be it. "I don't think you quiet understand what I mean by fun." Felicity pulled out an iPhone from her clutch and tossed it to Syn.

On the screen she could see Sebastian tied to a chair, a gun pressed against his temple. The screen switched and she was looking through the newly repaired window of 221B, Sherlock and John both visible through the window. "If you don't come with me, they die." Syn shifted on her feet and glanced at the men behind her once more. With a smirk she tossed the phone back to Felicity.

The woman narrowed her eyes in suspicion at Syn and she smiled in return. Syn didn't feel the sensation when a figure stepped out from around the corner but she was ready. The two guards shot forward immediately to protect Ms. Queen, side stepping Syn on their way. Stepping out of her shoes and sliding to the side she pulled her gun from it's holster and with two shots disabled both of the distributors.

Sweeping the hall panic began to set in. Felicity was gone. "Sherlock call Lestrade I want these two questioned. Here," she shoved the paper into his chest. "You and John get out and don't let these papers out of your sight. We'll talk about this later." She took off back the way she came shoving her way through the crowd of people still gathered in the main room.  _You_ _told him no. You should have left him. You could have snuck in but no you wanted him to come with you. This is all your fault._

She hesitated when she finally reached the door she had been looking for. Once she steps passed the threshold there would be no stopping the onslaught of memories that she had long ago deleted. Her phone rang again with another text.  _Forget Sebastian. Finish the distributors. Now. –M_ she reached for the door handle and her phone rang again.  _Now. -M_  "Fucking hell!" She pulled her dress up and took off running back to where the distributors lay, everything in her screaming to go back but she  _couldn't._  She couldn't because she was the good little solider that they had always wanted and the idea of getting information over saving the only person who had ever cared about her was too tempting.

People were flooding out as the sound of police sirens grew closer. At least Sherlock had sense enough to listen to her about one thing, she just hoped he listened to her about everything else. The men had drug themselves a good way by the time Syn found them again and they pleaded for their lives as she pointed the barrel of her gun in their faces. "Did they beg when they woke strapped to the table? Did they beg when their innards turned to mush? This is what a good subject looks like you bastards."

Two shots and they lay dead in a pool of their blood. No hesitation, no remorse, and Sherlock and John had witnessed the entire exchange. From their vantage point they could see the entire scene unfold through a mirror that was angled just so. They saw the way she rounded the corner, her eyes filled with a type of anger that was indescribable. They heard the venom laced in with her words, the years of pent up hatred threatening to spill out.

She lowered her gun, chest heaving, and adrenaline coursing through her veins. God did it feel good to kill again. "Syn!"  _Sebastian._ She slipped the revolver back into its holster, not wanting to be seen with it when the police found the bodies. "Sebastian?" His voice had been close, just down the hall behind her but as she grew closer to the main room she began to feel uneasy. This time a shout came from in front of her. " _Fantasma!"_ Her entire body froze, fear racing down her spine. Fantasma was Greek for The Ghost.

Police cars screeched to a halt outside as they blocked in the stragglers who hadn't made it out in time. "Hold him still you stupid son of a bitch! Stop! I'll do it myself!" The sound of glass breaking and a thud made her entire body shake and tears prickled in the backs of her eyes.  _They've killed him. You could've said no and he would've still been alive. You were so desperate for information that you couldn't see what was really going on. Pathetic. Murderer. Careless._

She took a deep breath to try to calm her nerves but she couldn't. Sebastian was the reason she was still alive, he protected her while she was in this hell hole. He stopped them from pushing her too far, he stopped them from torturing her when she disobeyed and took her punishment instead. She owned him everything but now she may not even have the chance to give him anything.

' _This is Sebastian_ ,' she reminded herself ' _He'll be fine, just like always.'_ She stepped out from her hiding place, a man and a woman standing over Sebastian's limp body, another figure crouching right beside him. It wasn't until it was too late that she realized what they had done.

* * *

**Thanks so much for reading! Let me know what you think! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable.

-James A. Garfield

-/-

_Drip._

_10,652._

_Drip._

_10,653._

_Drip._

_10,654._

_Her entire body ached. Whether it was from the cold or sickness or withdraw, she couldn't tell. Sores had festered on her body from where she had mindlessly rubbed and scratched while she counted. Blood had caked onto her chin and chest from where her lip had become so dry it has split, each coughing fit sending more blood rolling down her face. She had disobeyed. She had been given a child to watch over, a little girl with big hazel eyes and a curly mess of brunette hair no more than 5._

_She had been told to keep her fed and cleaned and clothed and that's exactly what she did. She tried to make Chloe, as she later found out, as comfortable as possible given the circumstances. She had gotten down on her knees so she could be eye level with the girl and taught her how to defend herself as best as she could. Chloe soon became attached at Syn's hip, never leaving her side no matter what she was doing._

_2 months passed and ransom had yet to be paid. Syn found out that Chloe's birthday had passed during her time in the organization and that night she smuggled in a piece of cake and a tiny stuffed bear. They sat on the floor that night and shared the piece of cake and Syn told her stories she thought to be appropriate for a child until Chloe fell asleep curled up in Syn's lap._

_It was a few days later that Syn found out they were going to kill Chloe. She had sighed heavily at the news and felt disappointed that she was going to lose the little girl she had grown close to but that's how things work at the organization. When she returned to her room Chloe curled herself up against Syn, her entire body shaking as the child cried for her parents. She couldn't let them kill her. It wasn't fair. She was just a little girl. She was innocent. That night after Chloe's body had given out from exhaustion Syn was told she was going to be the one killing the little girl._

_A coughing fit doubled her over in pain, blood not only coming from her lip but her throat now too. They were going to let her die down here all because she set an innocent life free. She snuck out that night with Chloe stuffed into a duffle bag and took her to the nearest police station after making her promise that she wouldn't tell anyone about who Syn was._

_The fire that ran through her veins concentrated itself on her chest, her legs and arms going numb to the point where she felt as if they were no longer even attached to her body. Something hot began rolling out of her nose and ears and from the side of her mouth, the metallic smell and taste of blood soon becoming overwhelming. Her head lulled to the side and her eyes drooped shut, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps._

_She was dying._

_She wasn't sure if she should be sad at the thought or relieved that it would finally be over. In all honesty everything in her mind seemed to melt away into nothingness. A blinding white light flooded her vision and had her mind still been with her she probably would've laughed at how cliché it seemed. A white light and someone pulling, why was she being pulled?_

_"Syn! Syn, hey stay with me okay? I'm going to get you out of here." She knew that voice. Who was he? His name was on the tip of her tongue but she just couldn't remember. She forced her eyes open and let them trail lazily over the features of the man carrying her. Her hand moved on its own accord, trailing up the man's face and into his dark hair. His green eyes looked down at her, filled with worry and tears and then she remembered._

_"Sebastian."_

_-/-_

It was storming when the ambulance reached St. Barts.

She had stayed by his side for as long as she could until she was ripped away. "Sebastian!" She watched helplessly as they rushed his body through the double doors of the ER, his back arching up off the stretcher as his body convulsed. She began to pace up and down the aisles of empty chairs in the small waiting room until her back ached and her bare feet throbbed. When she couldn't stand to walk anymore she sat in front of one of the windows and watched the storm rage outside.

 _This is all your fault! All of it! When will you learn all you can do is kill those around you? Did you think he would stay forever? Idiot! Of course not! He signed his death wish the moment he decided to help you!_ She curled herself up in the stiff chair and ran a hair through her thick locks. This had to be a nightmare, this can't be happening. How many more people was she supposed to lose? Hadn't she lost enough? Her friends, her family, the few people over the years who had dared tried to protect her, and now possibly Sebastian?

She let her mind wander back to the adoption records she had found at the Queen's mansion, thankful her photographic memory had yet to go. Raleigh Marie Queen was born a month early in Ashville, North Carolina on July 9th, 1988 to Felicity Lyn Queen and Oliver Scott Queen. A week later she was adopted by Felicity Queen's sister, Anna Marx, and her husband, Jackson Marx. When the paperwork was finalized the Marx's returned to their home in Westminster with Raleigh. Syn let her head rest against the cool window with a sigh.

She used to have a plan.

She always knew what she was going to do and why she was doing it but now? She had no idea what she needed to do. Tonight she had gone against everything she had been fighting to stop. She had taken orders from Him, she had obeyed His commands and killed in cold blood again,  _and liked it_. She had listened to Him instead of rescuing the man who had risked his life to save her once before and now he could possibly die.

"Is blonde your natural color?" She jumped in her seat, never once hearing anything to indicate anyone was approaching. Sherlock drew his brow together in confusion as he sat across from her. "What are you doing here?"

"We have a name; Moriarty."

-/-

_Moonlight filtered in through the balcony doors, washing over the queen sized bed and the figure bundled in blankets. The murmuring of the crowd along with the occasional laugh could be heard from downstairs. It was Christmas Eve and her parents had thrown a party again this year. She had mingled with the businessmen and their wives, using her manners and trying not to speak unless spoken to._

_Around midnight she informed her parents that she was going to bed for the night and after wishing everyone a merry Christmas she raced up the grand wooden staircase to her room. The smell of gingerbread and cinnamon wafted up through the air vents from the kitchen below as she slipped out of her red dress and into more appropriate clothing. She slid under the flannel bed sheets and clutched her mobile in her hand, waiting for his signal._

_10 minutes later her phone vibrated and she silently slipped out of bed, almost forgetting to grab the present she had managed to keep hidden from her parents on her way out. A light snow had begun to fall as she jumped from her balcony to the tree beside her. With practiced ease she climbed down the tree without disturbing the drooping, snow covered branches._

_Her boots crunched as she ran through the backyard and into the arms of her only friend. She never understood why her parents would never let her have friends or let her go to public schools or even play with the neighbor's son. She thought maybe her parents considered her too smart to go to school and that her skills were more important than friends. But she would get lonely at times._

_She would go wandering through the woods in the early hours of the morning, long after her parents had fallen asleep, climbing trees and practicing her archery. That's how she met him. The only person who thought like her, the only person who didn't shy away as she rambled or twirled her knives. No, he would simply smile and join her._

_He was her little secret._

_"Merry Christmas darling," he pushed a stray curl behind her ear and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. "I've missed you." She mimicked his brilliant white smile and brushed away the white flecks of snow in his jet black hair. "I've missed you too James."_

_-/-_

She was jolted back to reality with a gasp, her skin as cold as the night in her memory. Sherlock's eyes scanned over her trying to find a hint of recognition in her unfocused eyes but found nothing. His lips were moving but Syn couldn't hear passed her racing heart.

Tears prickled in the back of her eyes because that  _couldn't_ be real. But everything felt so familiar and real. She had known things she would have no way of knowing without having been there. "Syn?" She cringed inwardly at the sound of her name passing through his lips. It wasn't hers, it never was. It was always His name. It was always James Moriarty's name.

"I knew him," she caught her bottom lip between her teeth to try to stop her quivering lip. "He-he used me." Sherlock watched helplessly as the woman in front of him, who hadn't shown any signs of fear in the face of an unknown force or any pain after being beaten within an inch of her life, struggle to keep her composure.

He didn't know what compelled him to get on his knees in front of her and take her face between his hands. He gently brushed the stray tears away from her face and when his mind had finally caught up to what he was doing he hesitated for only a moment. "Syn, look at me," His voice was soft as were his hands and she knew it was so unlike Sherlock but that didn't stop her from leaning in to his touch. How long had it been since she had any sort of friendly touch?

She lifted her eyes to look at Sherlock and found an entire different person behind the gun metal gray eyes. This wasn't the man who solved murders with a single, uncaring glance, this was the Sherlock Holmes that had been buried a long, long time ago. "I'm going to help you stop him, do you understand? You aren't alone anymore." There was so much more she wanted to say but the words bunched up behind her lip and her tongue felt like a brick in her mouth so she nodded and he made sure to catch the tears that slipped out.

-/-

Syn had ended up curling up against Sherlock's arm once he took the seat beside her. The emotional exhaustion had caught up with her and she dozed off, startling Sherlock for a moment before he just accepted it and tried to make her as comfortable as possible. As he mindlessly drew patterns on her skin he tried to think where he began to feel so human.

An hour later a young nurse with short bleach blonde hair stepped into the empty room with a white file in hand. Sherlock gently woke Syn from her slumber, a light blush playing across her cheeks as she realized where she had fallen asleep. Mary Morstan was the closest thing Syn had to a friend. She didn't trust the woman but Syn knew about the mission she had been assigned to and knew she wouldn't risk her cover being blown. "How is he?"

"Mr. Moran is in recovery, the doctor said he'll pull through but there's been a...startling discovery if you will." The relief she had felt at the news dissipated immediately. She knew the serum enhanced certain senses and she also knew the serum could have side effects. "What happened? What's wrong?"

-/-

She didn't bother knocking when she found the room she was looking for. However once the door had slammed shut behind her she wished she had. "James Moriarty, get the hell out of here. This is private." He stood from his chair beside Sebastian's bed with a stupid shit eating grin plastered across his face. "I see Sherlock told you who I was." "You wanted me to find out about this didn't you?" Jim shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. "Well..." She glared at the two men, Sebastian giving her a pleading look.

"This was another test wasn't it? You wanted to see if I would still follow orders. Bloody hell." She pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a frustrated sigh. "Syn he was protecting you." She laughed out loud and Sebastian's remark. "Protecting me! You mistake me for an idiot, Moran." Jim smiled at the woman in front of him. If only she knew. If only.  _'Soon,'_  he reminded himself.  _'Soon she'll know_ everything _and she'll come crawling back.'_  He stood in front of her, reveling in the way her body tensed as her twirled a strand of blonde hair around his finger.

"This," he said pulling a solve thumb drive from his pant pocket. "Might change your mind." She plucked the drive from his hand with obvious disgust. "Goodbye for now darling."

As soon as the door closed behind him she shifted her glare to Sebastian. "You _lied_ to me." "Syn-"

"We're you ever planning on telling me about this? You set me up Seb. This whole entire mission was a setup, wasn't it? You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?" He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Everything we could find on Raleigh Queen is on that thumb drive."

She scoffed. "Right, because that is so much more important right now. You  _lied_  to me! God I can't believe this! I trusted you! How could you do this to me Seb?" He remained silent, his face expressionless against the emotional war raging within. "Fuck you! Stay away from me Sebastian Moran. If I ever see you again I will not hesitate to kill you."

And with that she was gone.

-/-

After returning to Baker Street, showering, and throwing on whosever clothes she could find, she collapsed on the couch and slept for three days. When she woke during the evening of the first day to use to bathroom the flat was quiet save for Sherlock's rambling on about a 'pool' and 'nuclear missile plans'.

The second day after using the restroom again she didn't miss the way they looked at her differently. She turned her back to them and fell into a fitful sleep. They knew.

During the third night she tossed and turned, her dreams filled with snippets of a life she yearned for. When she woke in the early hours of the third morning a black button up and a pair of khaki pants were neatly folded on the table beside her. The flat was silent as she gathered the clothes in her arms and locked herself in the bathroom. Her body ached and her scars were swollen and puffy, the hot water doing absolutely nothing to help.

Her mind was blessedly quiet as she dried and dressed herself.  _They know about you. It's time to leave._ She considered leaving them a note of some sort as she made sure everything was still safely tucked into her bag. Perhaps a thanks you note, or I-hope-the-crazy-psychopath-doesn't-kill-you note, but she decided not to. Maybe they would learn to leave the trash on the side on the road where it belonged. A loud cough as she passed by the kitchen nearly made her jump out of her skin. Both Sherlock and John were sitting at the cleaned kitchen table, three cups of steaming tea set out on the table. Two in front them and one across from them, nearest to her. She glanced back at the door that was just a few feet away. She could make it if she ran, easily, but looking back at the two men sitting at the table she knew she couldn't leave just yet.

"I suppose I owe you two an apology and a bit of an explanation, now don't I?" She sat down across from them are wrapped her hands around the warm coffee mug. "You're leaving. Why?" "I don't want to know what Moriarty told you about me however, if he told any sane person a fraction of the things I've done anyone would be repulsed, Sherlock. I knew he told you two by the looks you gave me yesterday when you returned."

"You've been working for him this entire bloody time haven't you?" John crossed his arms over his chest as she lashed out at him. "No! I swear to you everything I've told you has been the truth just-not the whole truth. When I told you a contact reached out to me and told me James Moriarty was back in London that was the truth. Sebastian was that contact and he told me Moriarty's attention was shifting to more promising prospects. A Doctor John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. I took the first flight out of Australia to York and walked the rest of the way here. I was only trying to protect you."

"Why protect us?" John questioned. "I thought maybe I would get close enough to finally be able to kill the bastard. When I researched you two I found your blog and Sherlock's website, which is absolutely  _brilliant_  by the way." She didn't miss the way Sherlock's face lit up a bit. "Anyways, When I started reading your blog, John I realized I was too late. The Study in Pink, the suicide cases, I knew it was Moriarty. He takes in clients like that, dying desperate people, and gives them what they need. Instructs them. Sure the cabbie was smart but Moriarty made him smarter. He gave him the ammo he needed and Moriarty was able to take out people who had crossed him without even getting his hands dirty. You and Sherlock thought the suicides weren't connected but that's only because you didn't know what you were looking for."

It was Sherlock who spoke this time. "When you speak of Moriarty you mention your hate towards him yet you didn't kill him at the hospital. Why?" She wasn't surprised that he had known she had just hoped that it wouldn't be brought up. "Truthfully I don't know. None of this feels right anymore. He gave me this," she pulled the thumb drive from her pocket and set it in the middle of the table. "Sebastian said it has everything the elites could find at the mansion on Raleigh Queen."

"You haven't read it yet." Syn smirked. "Sherlock is beginning to rub off on you John."

"Why didn't you kill him at the hospital?" She wasn't surprised that he had known she had just hoped that it wouldn't be brought up.

"I don't know. None of this feels right anymore. he have me this," she pulled the thumb drive from her pocket slid it across the table. "Sebastian said it had everything the elites could find at the mansion on Raleigh Queen."

"You haven't read it yet?" John observed.

"No I haven't."

"Why?"

She chewed her bottom lip. "My mind has been racing since the hospital, trying to make sense of the mess that's seemingly become my life and," for a moment she considered telling them the truth. "And I think I have enough to worry about right now. She's probably dead anyways."

From the chair pushed underneath the table beside him Sherlock retrieved his laptop and she can't help but wonder if he planned this entire thing out. "I wish to know what your previous team is capable of. This information could prove useful in the future."

Syn's heart was hammered in her chest as the thumb drive was plugged into the computer. "Sherlock," he hesitated for a moment, considering her silent plea to stop. She was completely vulnerable, on the verge of shattering with a single word but he had to know. It wasn't just because it could be useful, it was because he truly wanted to help her and this was the only way he could.

Sherlock almost laughed out loud at himself. Here he was in front of this woman who he knew hardly anything about and he  _wanted_ to help her. Perhaps it was because she reminded him of himself. Or maybe it was because, for the first time in his life, he could not deduce anything about her that she didn't want known. Their first encounter had been easy, she had been passed out and vulnerable on the couch. After that he found himself unable to find out anymore about the woman. She was proving to be a very interesting case.

She watched John's jaw go slack as he glanced between her and the computer screen. This has to be some sort of twisted, horrible nightmare. Her gaze shifted to Sherlock, waiting for him to deny her worst fears but he hesitates and her world comes crashing down around her.

She bolted out of the flat suddenly finding it far too small and stuffy and dear god the bloody awful  _truth_  was in there. She fisted her hands in her hair as she sobbed, not caring as people stared at her as they passed by.  _You stupid girl, why are you crying? You always knew what you were. Does it genuinely surprise you that you're Raleigh Queen?_  She cried even harder because it didn't. Her life had been fucked up the moment she was born. But deep down she wished it hadn't been true, that her family was  _normal_  and it was just a sick twist of fate that had brought her to where she was today.

The door beside her opened and simultaneously four gunshots went off.  _Look at you. Sherlock or John is dead because you've gotten so weak you don't even know when there's danger around you. What a waste of space you've become. What use are you if you can't even protect them anymore_. Around her four people dropped dead and chaos broke out on the streets.

 _Find the source. You may not sense them anymore but you can still track the projectile of the bullet._  Her hazy mind noted the direction in which they all fell and was able to locate a building within a matter of seconds. The glint from a rifle barrel caught her eye a few levels above where she was looking. It was one of the assassins that had moved in just down the street. When he saw her looking he nodded and suddenly things were making too much sense.

* * *

**Please let me know if you have any suggestions or comments! Thanks for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

Happiness is the enemy, it weakens you. Puts doubt in your mind. Suddenly you have something to lose.

-Niki Lauda

-/-

It was winter time and a fresh snow was beginning to blanket the streets of London. Sherlock had woken her early to let her watch the first white flecks fall from the sky.

Over the last two months Syn had fallen into a routine at Baker Street. Whenever she wasn't retching over a toilet or delirious from the multitude of symptoms the withdrawal provided, she found herself helping Sherlock and John as much as possible. A few times when there were no cases and Sherlock found it more amusing to shoot the walls than anything else, she would go down to Bart's to help Molly with autopsies. When there were none for that day she would walk to Scotland Yard and help Lestrade with cases. It wasn't as fun as helping Sherlock and John but she still enjoyed it.

When the nights came around she found herself quite often unable to sleep. She would try to read until the words blurred together and her eyelid became impossibly heavy, but even then it would only be a few hours before she woke in a cold sweat with the smell of blood still lingering and the screams still echoing through her head. When reading couldn't put her to sleep she would sit and watch Sherlock play his violin, humming along and wondering why the music he played always sounded so sad.

She padded away from her spot by the window to join Sherlock in the kitchen. Molly had given him a few sets of eyeballs for experiments a few days ago. "Can I help?" She slid on a pair of goggles planning to help him whether he wanted her to or not. She was incredibly bored and she was itching to shoot her gun but she doubted Ms. Hudson would appreciate her putting more holes in the wall. "You…want to help me?" Sherlock studied the woman in front of him, slightly distracted at how his insides pitched at the sight of her in goggles. It was an annoying habit his body adopted ever since the night in the hospital. Sherlock had noticed how her shoulders didn't seem as tense anymore and her green eyes held a childlike excitement behind them. When they went out for a case he could see her eyes constantly watching and her mind was always deducing and taking in her surroundings.

"Yeah of course...unless you don't want my help." Sherlock could hear her withdrawing, guarding herself against his expected rejection. "No. It's just that no one has ever...offered to help me. Nor have I ever wanted anyone's help." Sherlock cocked his head at Syn, confused at how completely okay, happy even, feeling her interest produced.

John paused in the doorway when he saw both Syn and Sherlock huddled over something.

"Now, make an incision from here to here." Sherlock pointed to something in Syn's hand. "Should I go through the cornea and aquarus humour, or is this good?"

"Yes, that's fine. I need the iris unscathed. Now, cut around here." He indicated again. "Do I cut through the ciliary muscle or keep it connected?"

"Connected, please. Now hold it over the bowl; this might get messy."

"Does it matter if I break open the vitreous body?"

"No, I have no need of the vitreous humour. Okay, now if I may?" Sherlock sounded a little out of breath as he held his hand out for Syn to transfer whatever it was she had in her hand into his.

"Now what?" She stood there, scalpel ready. When Sherlock didn't answer right away, she bit her bottom lip. "What?" Never in his entire life, had Sherlock become this flustered during an experiment. It didn't help that Syn knew exactly what she was talking about, even if it was something as basic as the structure of the human eye.

"What have I told you two about cutting things up on the table?" John chided. Syn and Sherlock looked up at him a bit guilty as a child would their mother. It was true though, John kept them sane and reminded them to eat and tended to them when they were too stubborn to back down and ended up hurt. "What's wrong with Harry? Another crisis?" John tried not to act surprised at her observation, he should've known she would have it figured out when she saw him. "Yeah, I'm going to be staying at her place for a few days. Thought I'd let you know before I left."

"I hope Harry gets better soon. The flat may burn down without any adult supervision." Sherlock rolled his eyes eliciting a chuckle from the two. "Please be safe John." She knew her past would eventually catch back up with her no matter how much she pretended like it wouldn't. Sherlock and John were all she had and if anything happened to them she wouldn't be able to make herself keep going any longer. There would be no muddling through it being absolutely miserable every day, or pretending like she really wasn't crushed by it. She would end her life if anything ever happened to John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.

-/-

Syn tossed and turned on the couch nightmares taking ahold of her every time she closed her eyes. Sherlock had went to bed a few hours ago but she could hear him occasionally moving around. With a sigh she pushed her aching body off the couch. Maybe Sherlock could go through his overflowing inbox and find a case for them to solve. His door was ajar and she could see a corner of his robe and pajama clad legs so she didn't bother to knock. "Hey Sher- _oh."_

She stood in the doorway in complete shock as he pulled his robe tightly around his bare chest. Out of all the things she could've seen when she walked in here she would've never imagined it would've been  _that_. The two stood there for a moment in silence. Sherlock was waiting for the string of questions that were sure to follow and the pity that would come after that. Syn's mind was swimming with anger and millions of questions that would have to remain unanswered. Sherlock was completely vulnerable in front of her. This was Sherlock she was seeing, not the Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes, not the machine with the human mask. This was the Sherlock that was always locked away

"It helps if you put heat on it. The way your scars keloid and turn red is similar to my branding. My entire shoulder will tighten up sometimes and heat helps relax the muscles. Do you have a heating pad around?" He shook his head and she could've sworn she saw tears in his eyes. "Take your robe off." He subconsciously pulled his robe tighter around him as she walked forward. "Sherlock do you trust me?" After a moment the grip on his robe slackened and it takes Syn no time to figure out how the scars were made.

They had been made with a dull, probably even rusty blade. These were the kind of wounds that despite their shallowness take forever to heal and always scar. Goosebumps broke out on his skin as she gently traced her fingers over the five, shaky letters, forming the word that stretches from one shoulder to another: FREAK. She placed the palm of her hand over the first letter and began to gently massage the scar with the heel of her hand.

 _Freak, it's for you. Please, you supposed to hate me! I'm a freak! You are lost, you are hurt, and you need help. You are_ not _a_ freak _._ "Is he dead?" "No." "That can be fixed. Where is he?" Her entire body was shaking with rage and she was craving to sink her knife into the bastards skin. How could someone do this to Sherlock? He was the most brilliant man she had ever met and someone dared to mark him as a  _freak?_ "It was my fault I-"

"Don't care," she interjected. "You don't have to tell me how it happened and I'm not asking you to." His shoulders relaxed as she moved her hands across his back and the muscles loosened. She decided it was probably better not to push the subject anymore. She would ask Mycroft for a name and location later. "Feeling any better?" He rolled his shoulders, the muscle rippling underneath her hands. "Yes, much." She felt for her branding as he covered his scars with his robe. She couldn't imagine how much they must hurt.

"Sherlock I-" A pounding at the door stopped her from saying anything else. "Hey you two someone open the door! I've got a case!"

-/-

"Anita Rucks, 27, recently married. Her husband came home and found her dead. Eyewitnesses place him at the local pub until 10pm, the corner places her time of death around 8."

Lestrade let the two into the study of the house containing the scantily clad dead body. Syn flipped through the 3 case files Lestrade had given her at the flat while Sherlock examined the body. 3 other women had died in the same manner but of course it had taken the police almost 2 weeks to find a connection whereas she could already blatantly see the connection. "All three women were shopping at Tesco with their husbands the same day they were killed. The wedding and engagement rings missing as well." She knelt down beside Sherlock and examined the area around the woman's body. "Someone else was here before she was killed."

"Of course there was. The murderer." Donovan looked up from her paper work with a scowl. "It must be so dull in that dense mind of yours. God how can you even remember to breathe? There was someone here  _before_  she was murdered. There's a path in the carpet where the fibers are slightly flattened in the direction of the window and her body is laying right across is. Whoever killed her came as soon as her lover left." Donovan took in both Syn and Sherlock's appearance and shook her head. "You two are just alike you know that? You're both f-" Syn shot up, her eyes dark and her hands balled into fists.

"I would chose my words carefully if you wish to wake up where you fell asleep," she growled, her voice low enough to go unheard by those around them. "I promise you if you dare to utter that word ever again you will not enjoy where you wake up, _if_  you wake up at all. You've seen my file, you know I don't break my promises." She smiled sweetly and turned her attention back to the body leaving Donovan gaping like a fish out of water.

-/-

"Lestrade we need you." The DI sat back in his chair as Syn and Sherlock strode into his office with a stunned look. "Now that's something I never thought I'd hear." The two rolled their eyes at his remark. "The wives and their husbands were shopping at Tesco the same day they were killed so the killer is either a daily shopper or an employee."

"So what do you need me for?"

"You have to play husband because I refused to let Anderson anywhere near me. He's a disgusting pig and John is out of town visiting his sister so our options are rather limited. If you're worrying about someone recognizing you don't, sunglasses will make you unrecognizable by the common, small minded people." Lestrade ran a hand down his face and sighed. "Bloody hell. Alright, fine. Where do I come in?"

"I'm going to already be there. Syn, find an excuse to walk over to where I am so I can shamelessly flirt with you and you with me. After dropping a few not-so-subtle hints, you give me a meeting place and then hopefully, the murderer will follow me to you. Of course, I'll be aware if someone is tailing me and by the time I reach our meeting place, Lestrade, you will have been alerted. It's simple, really."

"Dangerous, more like it." Lestrade watched as Sherlock pulled out a small jewelry case from his coat pocket. Opening it, he plucked out the smaller ring and slipped it onto Syn wedding finger. Walking over to Lestrade, he did the same.

"There. Now it looks like you're a married couple."

-/-

Syn wrapped her arm around Lestrade's back as they walked in, using her for support until she could grab a cart. It was uncomfortable at first, having people stop to smile at them, eyes lingering on Lestrade's leg as if they would be able to see what was making him limp so heavily, but it didn't seem to affect him at all. She would smile and brush up against Lestrade, playing the part of the adoring, young wife perfectly. It wasn't like this was the first time she was pretending to be married after all.

Following her lead, Lestrade became more at ease, occasionally guiding her with his hand on her lower back and letting his fingers linger on hers when he handed her something to place in the cart. It was all going as planned, both of them falling into their roles easily, painting the image of a perfect marriage to those around them. Until she found Sherlock. "Honey, I'm going to get some fruit." She let her hand linger on his arm for as long as she could, mimicking his warm smile.

Standing beside Sherlock, she picked up a tomato and carefully inspected it. The taller man leaned forward, brushing his arm against Syn's. Looking up at Sherlock, she recognized his coy smile as flirtatious even though she had never seen it before. "Terribly sorry." His voice was pitched lower than usual, a seductive drawl that clearly was not sorry at all and she found herself until to form a proper thought. Puzzled, she cleared her throat and turned her attention back to the produce.

"Your husband?" Sherlock's right arm pressed against Syn's for a moment. "Yes we got married 3 months ago." Sherlock watched Lestrade limp forward, his gaze lingering on his bad leg. "What's wrong with his leg?" He leaned forward conspiratorially as he spoke. "Land mine in Iraq. He's lucky he only lost his leg the crazy bastard."

"He must be a lucky man. He roped you in." Syn scoffed. "I doubt he would see it that way. We've done nothing but scream at each other since he's gotten back. We haven't even shared the same bed since our wedding night, can you believe that?" Syn was glad Sherlock had told her in advance what to say. If not she would be standing there like a complete idiot. Her heart was racing in her chest and for some reason she was finding it incredibly difficult to form a proper sentence.

"Really? That's too bad. Although I have heard PTSD can be extremely challenging to deal with...especially for the spouses." Syn studied him carefully for a moment, letting her gaze flicker down and then back up again. "Yes, it is." Sherlock smirked and grabbed her wrist, pulling her closer. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, his thumb resting against her pulse point. "I think I may be able to help. You seem a little…sexually frustrated. I'm not looking for anything long term, just one night. If you're not interested, I understand."

He moved away and began walking in the opposite direction of her. "Wait." Her command made him turn around with a smirk. "Yes?"

"How's Speedy's on Baker Street around 4 sound?" Syn glanced over her shoulder nervously at Lestrade who was examining the back of a soup can. Sherlock stepped closer, their bodies almost flush as he slid his fingers into her back pocket. His face was only a few inches away from her, his dilated eyes flickering between her eyes and lips. She placed her hand on his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat against her fingers. "My number. See you there," he whispered.

Watching him walk away she released the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and picked up a bag of apples. "Everything alright?" She smiled at Lestrade as she placed the bag into the cart. "Simply wonderful."

-/-

Syn took a deep breath as she stepped out of the cab and began walking towards Speedy's. This was her first time playing bait without the serum coursing through her veins. She didn't doubt her abilities, from her dreams she knew she had been a good fighter before the serum and during her time at the Queen mansion she had been trained even further. She was running on blind instinct and she could only hope that would be good enough.

Just as she made the turn towards Baker Street, her arm was grabbed from behind and she was pulled into an alleyway. Instincts kicking in she threw an elbow straight back, connecting with bone and spun to face her attacker. Her fist shot out to his Adam's apple and with a kick to the crotch the man fell. Two plainclothes came running into the alleyway flashing their badges before slapping on handcuffs. "Nathaniel Price. Disabled military veteran who killed his wife upon discovering her infidelity. When killing his own wife wasn't enough he decided to take it upon himself to rid London of cheating wives, especially those who cheated on their disabled husbands." Sherlock leaned casually against the brick wall, disappointed that the case had turned out to be so simple.

"His job at Tesco helped him spot the victims. You'll find a syringe of Valium in his hoodie pocket. The wives wedding rings will be at his home." Syn added. The man raked his eyes over her in bewilderment as the officers got him to his feet, proud to see a steady stream of blood coming from his nose. "What the  _hell_ are you two?" She smiled, something she'd been catching herself doing a lot more often and said, "Just a drugged up assassin and a Consulting Detective. Remember that when you hear the death penalty."

John returned early that morning to find both Syn and Sherlock fast asleep and their picture on the front page.

-/-

"I can't believe it! You and Detective Inspector posing as a couple!" Syn dried the dishes as Ms. Hudson handed them to her and placed them in their respectful spots. She tried to help out the landlady as much as she could considering what all she put up with. "I wish it would've been a bit trickier of a case. It only took us a day to solve and now we're all back to being bored again."

"Oh don't worry dearie I'm sure something else will come up." Syn dried her hands and leaned against the counter. "God, I hope so. I don't think John can take much more of our experiments when we get bored. Instead of bullets in your wall you might start finding arrow heads." Syn smiled fondly at the memory or showing Sherlock her collapsible composite bow, courtesy of Mycroft Holmes of course. They spent the day experimenting with different types of metals and explosives on the arrowheads which ended with a few missing pillows, the smoke alarms going off and a very unhappy Doctor Watson.

"Oh look at you, all smiles and such! It's so good to see you happy for a change. I thought for sure when Sherlock brought you in you would be gone within a few days. He's grown fond of you he has, you can see it in the way he looks at you." Syn laughed. "I highly doubt that Ms. Hudson." "Oh, nonsense! Everyone knows you two fancy each other, you'd have to be blind not to see it." No matter how much she tried to fight it off she couldn't stop the blush from creeping up her cheeks. "Oh god, everyone? Why does everyone always know my secrets before me?"

She had gotten too comfortable, too relaxed. When that pressure point became known it would be used against you and someone would end up hurt. It was almost like her mind knew what was happening and decided to leave her out.

A loud thud up above made the smile fall from her face. "Sherlock!"  _Oh, look at what you've done Syn. You were happy weren't you? You were used to me being gone. You slipped, everyone knows you fancy Sherlock Holmes. You have too many pressure points now Syn, it's going to be so easy to pick you apart. Sherlock. John. Ms. Hudson. Molly. Lestrade. And even Sebastian. Six people to kill, six times to fail._

She raced up the stairs two by two until she reached the top. Papers and books were strewn everywhere, John's chair turned upside down. In the middle of the mess lay Sherlock curled in a fetal position, in the doorway, a barely conscious John. "Sherlock," she fell to her knees beside him and assessed the damage with blurry eyes. Blood was running from his nose and the side of his lip where it had been split. A small cut in his hairline that would heal without stitches and nothing appeared to be broken. Unbuttoning his shirt she examined his chest, the fetal position suggesting a few kicks to the abdomen. He groaned as she gently ran her fingertips over his chest, finding each rib and making sure it was still in once piece.

"Syn," John had sat up and looked worse than Sherlock, blood running down his face from a gash in the bridge of his nose. His breathing was labored and his eyes were darting between her and the wall. " _Oh god it's happening_ ," Written across the wall in white paint read: TIME TO PLAY RALEIGH QUEEN. SHOW US WHAT YOU CAN DO. Underneath was a blown up picture of her and John both smiling widely, Sherlock looking at Syn with a rare smile. Another was of her and Sherlock taken at the Tesco when he had slipped his hand into her back pocket and their faces were mere inches away. The long blade pinning the pictures to the wall sending a chill of fear racing down her spine and permanently embedding itself within her.

_You didn't even know anyone was coming. You act as if your past does not exist and stay here with the two of them. What good are you? They could've been killed and you never would've known! You're pathetic! A freak! If anyone deserves that marking it's you! You, Raleigh Queen, are going to get everyone killed just as you always do and you are going to be completely helpless._


	8. Chapter 8

Powerlessness is an excruciating pain; it is torture insurmountable.

-Richelle E. Goodrich

-/-

3 months earlier

Their pictures seemed to have a permanent place on the front of every newspaper in London since the three had found the missing Reichenbach Falls painting. And then there was the kidnapped banker and the capture of Interpol's most wanted criminal, Ricoletti. The Reichenbach had caught her off guard, she never expected such a big reaction from the press so when reports began snapping pictures she slid out unseen. When the banker was returned home however, she was prepared.

She wore sunglasses and hid behind her scarf again but that only seemed to bring more attention to herself. Reporters wanted to be the first to find out as much as they could about the woman behind the scarf. It worried her that her true identity would become known but Mycroft assured her that the safety measure she had taken were still in place. She wasn't proud of what she had done to assure they stayed in place but she was glad she had done it.

Then Moriarty came back.

She was at Scotland talking to Lestrade about a case when Donovan came in and said there had been a break in at The Tower of London. She of course went with them and that's how she found out about the break in at the Bank of England and Pentonville Prison. What scared her the most wasn't the face that Moriarty willingly allowed himself to be arrested and put on trial. It was the fact that he was doing absolutely nothing to defend himself, it was all a game that was playing out perfectly.

Syn returned with John the next day to hear the verdict despite the fact she already knew what it was going to be: not guilty. She took the first cab she could find back to Baker Street but it was all in vain for Moriarty was long gone by the time she arrived.

-/-

"I thought I asked to chat with James Moriarty not his loyal lap dog." Syn glared at Sebastian as he took a seat in front of her. In the few minutes it took for what seemed like the entirety of Scotland Yard and paramedics to arrive at Baker Street, Syn had disconnected. She was no longer in that flat and she wouldn't be for a very long time. Instead she was trapped in the deepest, darkest, crevices of her mind and there was no saving her. In the commotion of people rushing in and around the flat she slipped out the bathroom window, unseen and bag in hand.

"You did but you sounded upset on the phone so I decided to come instead and by the looks of it I was right." Syn looked away, trying to fight back the new set of tears that threatened to roll down her face. She looked at the telly the pub had mounted on the wall and tried to focus her attention on that until she trusted herself to look at him. "I didn't sound  _upset_. I sounded perfectly normal."

His eyes darted to the door as the bell chimed announcing the arrival of a customer. "Sebastian?"  _Thick bruising under his scarf; asphyxiation. New cut above his eyebrow. Sleep deprived. Blood on his scarf, not his. Nails chewed to the quick. Bruised knuckles. Gunpowder residue on his hand. Shallow breathing. Hyperaware._ He stood abruptly, his face paling. "We need to leave. Now."

She ran out of the pub after him, the icy wind freezing her to the bone as soon as she stepped outside. "Get in the car." The urgency in his voice left no room for protest as she slid into the passenger seat. "Seb, what's going on?"

"You asked me if I ever thought you would be able to stop killing and I said no. Well, I lied. If any of us I think you'll be the only one to make it out. You're stronger than any of us could ever hope to be." He kept checking the rearview mirror almost as if he was expecting to be followed. "Sebastian, what did you do?"

"If you want out you have to know the truth," He pulled into an alleyway and parked. "Let me help you with whatever is going on. Please."

"Syn, listen to me. You know what the elites are capable of, you know they don't miss a target when given the orders to kill. How can you not see the pattern here? You blame us for hunting you down and trying to kill you when all we have been trying to do is  _protect_ you."  _Oh Syn, you always were so stupid. All your life the truth has been right in front of your face but you've been too stupid to see it. Kill shot, miss, kill shot, miss. Stupid, stupid girl._ "W-what?"

"Think about it Syn! James cares aboutyou _._ He always has! He has been watching you since before you even knew who he was. Think about who it was that tortured you, who pushed you, who injected you, who caged you. James was the one who  _saved_ you. He sent me to protect you because that was my job. I received my orders and I followed through with them. Anna and Jackson Marx were your adoptive parents and they were just as crazy as your real parents, hell if not crazier. They were the ones who branded you. The M never stood for Moriarty, it always stood for Marx."

She ran a numb, shaking hand through her hair, her mind racing. She squeezed her eyes shut and retreated to the dark places in her mind palace where she kept everything locked away and chained up. It was James Moriarty standing over her when she was injected with the serum, wasn't it?  _No of course it wasn't! You were scared. Your parents told you to stay away from him and you didn't. Your mind was trying to come up with something that made sense._

"You could be lying to me right now," she said more to convince herself than anything. There was something off about him, an emotion present in his green eyes that she had never seen before. Was it fear? Paranoia maybe? "We both know you never deduced me as a liar. I never told you about me because I didn't want you to blame yourself. If the serum would've killed you they would've shut the entire program down.  _Years_  of research and it wasn't working on anyone. The serum took to you and everyone spent every waking second analyzing and testing you. Then they decided to try it out again. I was knocked out and shot up and for some reason the serum took to me too."

_God can't you do anything right? Your freakish body accepts a serum that should've killed you, which in turn makes a man who was protecting you get dosed. You escape and kill the people you spent years with because you can't see a simple pattern. And now you realize you never had the slightest clue as to what was going on around you. All you can do is fuck up. Thank god someone finally decided to tell you the truth._

"Why are you telling me this?" He ignored her and opened the center console. Inside was a brown paper bag. "A onetime injection that will make everything permanent. It is the only and the last of the serum in existence." Her mouth watered at the sight of the blue filled syringe in the bag. "This," he said retrieving the syringe. "Is the only thing that matters right now."

"What do you mean last in existence? Sebastian what's going on?" "Syn-" "You've been asphyxiated, haven't slept in the last 36 hours I'd say, shot and killed…two people after being attacked; hyperawareness, the state of your fingernails and shallow breathing all suggest nervousness. And don't pretend that I didn't know you rerouted my call and used a recording to answer, I mean really it was almost hurtful for you to think I was stupid enough not to notice. You've been wanting to talk to me but didn't reach out because you knew I wouldn't answer. So, are we going to keep playing this game or are you going to tell me what you mean by this is permanent and the last in existence?"

His jaw clenched in annoyance. Of all the times he just wanted her to just  _drop it_  she wouldn't. Of course she wouldn't. This was Syn and if anyone knew him it was her. Hell, she probably knew him better than he did

"I can't tell you Syn. Telling you puts you in even more danger than you're in now but I promise you after tonight I'll tell you everything. Just, please, if you want you and your friends to survive these next few days you're going to want this in your system. Forget about this conversation, go back to Baker Street and protect your friends. You can't come back." Something in the back of her mind told her maybe he was right.  _Oh course he's right. Moriarty owes Sherlock a fall remember? IOU._

She saw it like this, before the serum she had been unable to protect her 'family' from the monsters who stole them away. Granted they weren't her real parents but that didn't matter, what mattered was that she could barely protect herself before the serum. Five people had attempted to help her along when she was living in the streets; five people died because she was unable to protect them. When she was working with Moriarty she was able to protect him, and Sebastian and the elites who, in her twisted little mind, were her family and her responsibility. Now here she was again, without the serum, and finding herself unable to protect her friends. She  _had_ to protect them. She  _had_  to.

As the needle pierced her skin the heat of the serum warmed her freezing body, the fire euphorically coursing through her veins again, her entire body buzzing with its high.  _Welcome back Syn._

"You good?" She nodded her head numbly, her mind not exactly with her at the moment as the serum raced through her. "Baker Street. I should probably get back. I have to do surveillance and-and stuff, other stuff." She cleared her throat and tried to concentrate. "Already done. The link's on your phone." "Right, thanks. For…this." He smiled sadly as she waved at him over her shoulder before disappearing. " _Please,"_ he pleaded silently.  _"Please, let her live. She doesn't deserve this."_

Her head was swimming with thousands of thoughts and regrets and hundreds of questions, none of which she could quiet focus on at the moment. However there was one thing, one little thought that flitted across her mind that captured her full and immediate attention.  _It was desperation._ She stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk.  _Sebastian Moran was desperate._ She turned on her heels and ran the short distance back to the alleyway the car had been parked moments ago to find it gone.

She had rehearsed in her head a million times what she was going to say when she returned back to the flat; she had gone after the men who had broken in and chased them for a few blocks until she lost them. It took one look from Sherlock to bring that entire plan crumbling to pieces. "Oh Syn, what have you done."

She broke down in the doorway and begged for forgiveness.

-/- It wasn't until early the next morning that she realized what Sebastian had done.

Lestrade came for her around 6 in the morning. There had been a mass murder at the remnants of the Queen mansion. "Wait, what do you mean remnants?" "You didn't hear? There was some sort of explosion down in the basement last night, the whole place came down." Sherlock and John both shot her a look and she shook her head. "It wasn't me. I didn't know anything about it. What about the Queen's?" The DI shrugged. "They're still pulling bodies out."

She rode in silence in Lestrade's car, the overwhelming urge to scream and cry growing in Syn as they pulled in. Just as he said, the massive house of horrors was no longer standing. Unburned bodies littered the yard, faces of people she had protected and shared a home with dead. She looked at the piles of bodies, some of them wore dark blue jackets, a color she now realized marked those who worked for the Queen's

There had been a fight, the elites had stormed after the fleeing scientists and thugs. Blood stained the grass making it obvious that not all of them had died right away. A head of brown hair caught her eye and before she knew it she was running because no matter how much she tried to deny it she just  _knew._

A single shot through the back killed Sebastian Moran.

Her heart ached in her chest looking at his lifeless body. But even through her blurry vision she could see the relief on his face, he knew it was coming. The paranoia at the pub, desperation in the car,  _this is the only and last of the serum in existence,_  he knew they were coming for him. She always assumed the roles would've been reversed, that she would be the one dead first whether it be murder or suicide. It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

 _Something's not right here. Why would Moriarty send his best men to their death? Sebastian was desperate in the car, if he knew this was going to happen why come?_ "Syn, come on there's been a kidnapping."

-/-

An uneasy feeling washed over Syn as they pulled in at the boarding school. The kids of Rufus Bruhl, the ambassador of the US, went missing and the "Reichenbach Hero," as Donovan put it, had been asked for specifically. It had been simple, the boy had been smart enough to rub linseed oil on the bottom of his feet to show us where the kidnapper had taken the two as well as the build of whoever had taken them. The trail had only gone for a short distance but the prints left behind had the potential to tell them everything they needed to know. The entire time she was there she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched but she could never find the source.

"Sherlock, this envelope that was in her trunk, there's another one." Syn looked up from the microscope that she was currently using to examine her blood. "What?" "On our doorstep," John explained as he rifled through his coat. "Found it today. Yes, and look at that." She abandoned the blood sample to stand beside Sherlock. "Look at that. The same seal." Inside the envelope were bread crumbs.

"Sebastian told me the day before he died that if you want you and your friends to survive these next few days you're going to want the serum in your system. He said go back to Baker Street and protect your friends. IOU, Moriarty is playing the game again. The book you found in the trunk was called Grimm's Fairy Tales. There's a story in it, Hansel and Gretel, the children follow a trail of breadcrumbs. The glycerin molecule it's PGPR."

As the three ran out of the morgue a chill ran up Syn's spine but when she turned around nothing was there.

-/-

It had been easy to find the children once the fifth element had been found. They had been at an abandoned sweets factory in Addlestone, eating themselves to death on mercury laced chocolates. He didn't even have to be there for the execution so why leave clues? Why make it easy to find the children? "Alright then, the professionals are finished if the amateurs want to go in and have their turn." It wasn't until the three stepped into the room where the little girl was did she understand why he didn't need to be at the factory.

He was planting a seed of doubt in everyone's head.

"Brilliant work you did finding those kids on just a footprint. It's really amazing. Unbelievable." Sally Donovan was the first to fall for it. Syn waited until Sherlock was far enough away to speak with her. "Whatever is going through that mind of yours is not true. Moriarty is putting doubt into everyone's head and you cannot let him win." The woman rolled her eyes. "Everyone knows you care about Sherlock, it doesn't surprise me that you'd try to defend the psychopath."

 _What if she's right?_ No! Stop it!  _You just don't want to believe it. Sherlock Holmes the brilliant consulting detective you love, a fake. A Psychopath. Murdering all those people and then showing off to you and John._ "Where's Sherlock?" John stood on the curb trying to get a cab, Sherlock nowhere to be seen. "He said he needed to think."  _He could be working for Moriarty, this entire thing all a ruse to make you think you actually have a chance to get away from this life._

"No! Get out of my head!" She knotted her fingers in fistfuls of her hair, pacing in circles. Cold sweat began to prickle against her forehead and trickle down the back of her neck. Her hands, usually steady, were trembling in her hair. She couldn't breathe, her palms sweaty as she removed them from her hair and her heart felt as if it was trying to beat its way out of her chest. Her head spun and her lips and fingers prickled with the sensation of pins and needles, there was a horrendous ringing in her ears,  _it's all fake_  on repeat in her head. "John," she gasped.

"Syn, look at me you're having a panic attack. I'm going to touch you alright? I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just going to touch you." He gently reached out and placed a hand on her shaking shoulder, completely aware that at any moment she could snap him in two. Her glazed eyes darted back and forth between the doctor and the road. "Syn take a deep breath for me. Syn? Can you hear me?"

Her eyes focus on him for a moment. "Deep breath." There was a pause and for a moment John feared she was going to pass out. "Syn?" She took a deep, unsteady breath and exhaled. "Good, very good. Can you do that again for me? Deep breath." She did it again, this time a bit steadier. "Can you tell me what your name is?" She took another deep breath. "S-Syn." "And where are we, Syn?" She blinked a few times, her eyes coming back into focus. "Scotland Yard."

"Let's get in the cab alright?" She nodded, her arms wrapped tightly around her torso as John guided her in. They rode in silence, John keeping a watchful eye on the shaking woman beside him. "Bloody hell, stop the cab." Syn forced herself to get out and follow after John. On the side of the road one of the assassins lay dead.

-/-

Syn watched from the window as Lestrade and Donovan drove away. They had come to try to talk Sherlock into coming into the station but everyone in the room knew it was futile.  _They're going to come back with a warrant and prove it's him. He planted all the bodies. He'll confess or kill them and drag you and John along to solve the murder._ No. You're wrong.  _Oh honey, if only you could see yourself. You've gotten rusty._ "They'll be deciding." She glanced at Sherlock for a moment before turning her attention back to the window. "Deciding?" John asked. "Whether or not to come back with a warrant and arrest me." Syn began pacing between the window and door. "You think?" John looked out the window. "It's standard procedure."

 _You're going to lose everyone. Sherlock will go to jail, John will leave, Lestrade won't trust you anymore, Molly won't talk to you, and you're going to be all alone again._ "You're worried they're right about me." "No," both she and John said at the same time. "That's why you two are so upset. You can't even entertain the possibility that they might be right. You're afraid you've been taken in as well."

"No I'm not," John mumbled turning away from Sherlock. "It can't be true. I refuse to believe it." "Moriarty is playing with your mind too," Sherlock slammed his fist down on the table. "Can't you see what's going on?"

"Moriarty planted a seed of doubt, something that's so easy to believe because no one wants to accept the fact that it's true. If he's sticking with the fairytale theme I'd go with Sir Boast-a-lot the noble knight who bragged and bragged and bragged until everyone got tired of it. They began to wonder if his stories were even true. No one can be as brilliant as you are and be making it up as they go along. You knew everything about me and there is no way you could've known any other way beside pure genius." The faintest hint of a smirk danced across his face.

"I know you're for real." Sherlock's gaze flickered back over to John. "One hundred percent?" "Well, nobody could fake being such an annoying dick  _all_  the time." Syn smiled, it would be the last one for a very, very, long time.

-/-

Car doors slam outside as people get out, the doorbell rings and someone pounds on the front door knocker as if the lights and sirens weren't enough indication of who was here.  _It's time. They're taking Sherlock away from you forever._ As John runs out of the flat Sherlock calmly turns and picks up his scarf. Her throat burns and tears well up in her eyes but she forces them down. "I'm scared." It's out before she can stop herself and Sherlock freezes. "Syn-" She runs forward and throws her arms around his torso. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I don't know how to make this stop."

His arms tentatively wrap around her and he places a small kiss on top of her head. "It's not your fault." She buries her face in his chest. 'I believe in you Sherlock Holmes and I always will." She pulls away from him as everyone comes racing up the steps, wiping away the few stray tears with the back of her hand.

"Sherlock Holmes, I'm arresting you on suspicion of abduction and kidnapping." The officer cuffing him uses more force than necessary to get his hands behind his back and Syn wants to skin him alive. Lestrade looks at the two sternly as Sherlock is lead out. "Don't try to interfere, or I shall arrest you too." "Lestrade please, you know Sherlock didn't do this." He walks out, ignoring her plea.  _Of course he's going to ignore you. He knows he's right. Sherlock did this._

Donovan comes in next with a smug smile plastered across her oh-so-punchable face. "Get. Out." She crossed her arms over her chest looking absolutely satisfied with herself. "Oh, I said it. 'Solving crimes won't be enough. One day he'll cross the line.' Now ask yourself: what sort of man would kidnap those kids just so he can impress us all by finding them?" Syn's body reacted on its own accord, her fist connecting with the side of Donovan's face with a satisfying crack.

That's how she finds herself slammed up against a police car beside Sherlock. "I  _really_ hate the bitch." Another body is slammed onto the car between her and Sherlock. "Joining us, John?" An officer behind them unlocks the cuff on Sherlock's left wrist and transfers it to John's right, effectively chaining them together. "Hey, what about me? Am I not allowed to have one hand free?" The officer looks at her warily before scuttling away.  _They know who you are idiot._ "Hmm. Bit awkward, this." "Huh. No one to bail us out." "I was thinking more about our imminent escape."

A chill ran through her entire body and fear welled up within her.  _There's too many people._  A loud squealing rips through the air, officers bending over and ripping out their ear pieces. Sherlock takes a pistol from the distracted officer behind them and begins backing away. "Ladies and Gentlemen, will you all please get on your knees." Syn ran from the car to stand beside John. Two shots ring out from the gun. "Now would be good!" Slowly all the officers begin to kneel. "Just-just so you're aware, the gun is his idea. I'm just a...you know." Sherlock transfers the gun to John head. "…my hostage." "I just really don't want to go to prison." Syn added.

"So what now?" "Doing what Moriarty wants-I'm becoming a fugitive. Run." The three sprinted down the road a chill running down her right side. "Go left!"  _Behind!_  A prick to the back of her neck made her stumble, the sedative making her knees weak.  _Run!_ A hand clapped over her mouth and her legs lazily kicked as she tried to fight off her attacker. The last thing she remembers is Sherlock and John disappearing from sight.

-/-

Syn's eyes snap open as soon as she realizes she is conscious, thankful for the dimness of where ever she was being held. Looking down her torso and feet are bound to the wooden chair with rope and her hands are zip tied behind her back. A gag is tied so tightly around her mouth she can taste the blood from her lips being pressed into her teeth. She could deal with all of this just as long as she could see. By the looks of it she was in a storage unit, the smell and sound of rats telling her it's an abandoned storage facility.

On the wall beside her was a cork board, pictures and articles on her, John, and Sherlock littering the board. Her eyes continued to take in her surroundings, she has plenty of room to fight and a camera above her head had been watching her. The door in front of her was opened and light flooded in, momentarily blinding her as four guards marched in and took their respective corners as the Queen's came in. "Hello baby girl." Felicity cooed as Oliver removed the gag from around her mouth. Syn shoots the dirtiest look she can at the woman and remained silent.

Her heart pounded painfully in her chest as she tried to keep that… _thing_  from happening to her again. "Oh look honey! I told you Mr. Moran would deliver. She's all healed up already!" Oliver gripped her roughly by her chin and forced her to look at him, his hot breath reeking of whiskey. "What are you talking about?" She sounded so small and scared and so unlike herself. "It was easy, with Moriarty missing Sebastian was left in charge. A few mentions of you in various scenarios had him wrapped around our finger."  _Oh._ "He knew you were going to kill him either way. So why not try to protect me the only way he knew how. Give me the serum and tell me the truth." Oliver smiled like the Cheshire cat, his eyes completely mad. "Excellent!" He pulled a pocket knife from his back pocket and began circling her.

She strained in her bindings finding little give. Her eyes darted over to the guards, statistics running through her head.  _Look closely._ They were in navy the same color as all the others, stoic faces, rigid posture, heavily armed but no guns.  _Interesting._  "So it must've been hard hearing the news about- _fuck!"_ He drove the knife into her shoulder and viciously ripped it out. "Your house of horrors being blown up," She hissed in pain as he slashed the blade across her cheek, narrowly missing her eye. "I just have one question. How did you kill Sebastian?" Felicity pulled a small vial of what looked like water out of her pocket.

"Curare laced bullets. No matter how hard you fight you can't stop yourself from being choked to death by your own body. It was rather interesting to watch it take place, he begged for us to leave you alone. In fact, your name was the last thing to pass though his lips." Oliver trailed the knife down her neck just hard enough to draw blood. "Will you stop that! Jesus Christ! What is the point of this? A little family reunion?" She jerked against the rope again but nothing happened. "You're not going to kill me or you would've done it already so why am I here?"

"Just having some family bonding time with our precious daughter." Syn rolled her eyes and tried to ignore the throbbing in her shoulder. "Wait a minute, you said Moriarty was missing and Sebastian was left in charge. You wouldn't know that unless…" Her eyes flickered to the closest guard in front of her. He nodded his head, it was barely there but she saw it. "Unless what?" Oliver drove the knife into her side this time and she cried out.

"Unless…you're working with him. You could've taken me any night but you wait until tonight to do it. Moriarty told you to take me and Sebastian knew what was happening. He didn't want me in the way tonight because I know something that could destroy his entire game don't I? Something I could tell Detective Inspector and the press that could destroy everything Moriarty has done." Felicity nodded her head in approval. "Look at how smart she is Ollie, she gets that from you." She said lovingly.

"So what's the plan? You kill me? Leave me here for the rats?" Natural light was beginning to filter in through the hall. How long had she been knocked out? "No, sadly none of that is going to happen. We wait here until we're given a signal that it's safe to move and then we're going to be one big happy family again." "And let me guess, this 'big happy family' consist of me in a dog cage again while you continue to run tests on me? Oh joy."  _Look at the guard._

The man's gaze began flickering between her and Oliver as he walked in front of her again, twirling the knife around his fingers. She waited until he was behind her to swing her hands back and catch him in the crotch. The flurry of events that happened next would leave her completely speechless. As Oliver fell the guards rushed forward two pinning down Oliver and beating him senseless, one cutting away the ropes tying her to the chair, and one fighting off a very livid Felicity.

As soon as Syn was freed she took the chair and smashed it over Felicity with a  ** _thud_**. "Pin her down!" The guard that had previously been fighting her wasted no time pinning her hands behind her back. The vial of curare was unharmed and she knew exactly what she was going to do. "Flip her over." The guard that had freed Syn came over to assist her, hold down Felicity's legs. "Don't kill Oliver, not yet. He's mine." She shouted over her shoulder. Felicity's eyes were blown wide in fear and confusion and she was enjoying every moment of it.

A few drops of curare to a gash on her head and Felicity Queen was gasping for air. Her gasps echoed through the storage unit and soon Oliver Queen was joining her until they both fell silent. She looked over the guards carefully, prepared to fight if they turned on her. "Syn, my name is David Demye," the guard who untied her began. "This is Alec Yatz, and Gio and Spencer Kvaternick. We were the new recruits you trained a few years back when you worked for Moriarty." If she hadn't been in so much pain she might've laughed. "I remember you all. Sebastian sent you to save my ass didn't he?"

"Yes ma'am." They all said at the same time. "Thank you. If you ever need anything don't hesitate to call me." "Ma'am it's my understanding that whatever is happening is taking place at St. Bartholomew's Hospital." Alec said. "Thank you!" She yelled over her shoulder as she ran out.

-/-

Thankfully the storage facility she had been held at wasn't too far out of town. She was able to find a cab in just a few minutes. She repeatedly tried calling John and Sherlock but neither of them answered and it made dread pool in her stomach. She was racing against an invisible clock and the closer to St. Bart's she got the worse the feeling became. What was Moriarty going to do? What if he killed Sherlock and John?  _Oh you know he has. He's killed them all and you're too late._

John was standing in the middle of the road when her cab pulled up, his head craned up and cell phone pressed against his ear. "John?" She followed his gaze up and screamed. " _SHERLOCK!"_ She watched helplessly as he fell down, down, down, until he hit the pavement with a sickening thud.

Four lives were taken in total that day.

Sherlock Holmes'.

James Moriarty's.

John Watson's.

And her's.

It wasn't until the next day when she found it impossible to cry anymore tears, and her voice had gone hoarse from sobbing that she looked at her phone.

1 text message on January 15th .

_Forgive me -SH_

* * *

**Thanks so much for reading! I will be uploading another chapter soon! Please let me know what you think!**


	9. Chapter 9

It’s so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.

-John Steinbeck

-/-

“Alright give me a week and I’ll have everything sorted out for you.” The woman in front of Sarah Braxton smiled widely, tears brimming in her hazel eyes as she blubbered her thanks. As soon as the door shut behind her latest client Sarah let the fake smile fall from her face immediately.

Throwing her pen down she decided to call it a night. The news was playing on the telly in the main room, some story about a series of murders that had stumped Scotland Yard, as usual. She contemplated picking up the phone and calling the DI but she knew better. As she picked up to remote to turn it off the screen changed to a picture of Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, and a ghost of someone’s past, all posing in front of 221 Baker Street.

It was the 2 year anniversary.

The remote collided with the wall in front of her in a fit of rage. Two years. Two bloody years and it still felt like it had just happened. She sat on the edge of the couch and held her head in her hands as she tried to keep her breathing steady. “Two years have passed since the tragic death of Sherlock Holmes and the world continues to grieve the loss of the brilliant Consulting Detective…” Sarah laughed through tears, it was a bitter and forced sound. Dead men always gets listened to when it’s too late.

Once she was sure her legs would support her she stood and shut off the telly, silence falling over the sparsely furnished cabin. She follows protocol and dials her latest employer as she packs her things into her bag. She frowns when she receives no answer and tries again but still is unable to get in touch. Slinging her bag over her shoulder she heads towards town, her German Shepard Arrow is at her heels the moment she steps outside. The woman she met with earlier spoke of an abandoned barn on the outskirts of town and after a few miles of walking she spots the dilapidated building. Seeking refuge from the howling winds in one of the stalls she decides to wait until morning to talk to the locals. Unlike Sarah the men she are looking for can’t speak the language so she predicts by tomorrow night she’ll have her reassignment orders.

The wind picked up outside and she almost missed the creak of the barn door opening, mistaking it for the gale outside. It was the sound of voices that sent her burrowing under a hay stack a few yards away, her loyal companion pressed against her side. Unless someone came during the middle of a storm to lay hay she was safe. She could pick out three distinctive voices but it wasn’t until she realized that they were speaking English that she knew who they were.

“I told you there were no animals!” The voice was nasally and high pitched. She was positive she had heard that voice somewhere before. “It was better than the place in town. I swear they know we’re the one who’ve been taking the food.” This voice had an Irish accent and sounded very irritated. “It could’ve been anybody!” The first one argued. “We’re the only strangers around here you bloody git.”

“Enough,” This deeper voice silence the others. “Let’s look around.” She could hear them moving around and couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She burrowed further back and settled in. “Hey did you hear what’s going on in London?” The nasally voice asked, sounding distant. “It’s gotten pretty bad over there, yeah?” The Irishman was closer now. “It should be over,” The nasally voice continued. “Smythe killed John Watson.”

She felt a jolt like lightning go through her. That’s impossible…no…Mycroft would’ve called her…it can’t be true. Beside her the dog nudged her sympathetically. “Are you sure?”

“It had to be him. The brother was a useless snob and no one else seemed to know anything.”

“I thought he had police protection?”

“Not after the DI was fired. Smythe got’em in a crowded shop but at least he got it done.”

“Did you two find anything?” The deeper voice was back.

“No, you?”

“Nothing. Let’s get back to the cabin before the storm hits.”

The barn door slammed shut but she barely heard it. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. John wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. She scrambled out from her spot in the hay, tears running down her face and her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. It takes her three tries to dial Mycroft’s number and it takes five rings for him to answer. “There’s a car waiting for you 5 miles west of your current location. I’m sorry, Syn.”

-/-

It’s sunny and warm when she arrives in Britain. She’s taken to a safe house in Plymouth first where she showers and her now raven hair is dyed blonde again and the matted ends are cut off. Her wounds are properly treated and her soiled boots are switched out with a new pair. She’s given a pair of tightfitting jeans, a white t-shirt, and a grey scarf that makes her begin to question things. They even wash Arrow and feed and trim him. She doesn’t understand why they’re going to all this trouble to clean her up.

Mycroft is nowhere in sight and his assistant, Anthea proves to be useless on the ride into London. The car stops long enough for her and Arrow to get out before it zooms off, leaving her in front of the Diogenes Club. Keeping her head down she maneuvers through the silent club until she’s sitting in front of Mycroft, Arrow laying across her feet. Wordlessly she’s handed a case file and she’s expecting to see the corpse of her best friend inside but instead she finds a detailed report of a terrorist cell.

“You bastard!” She shoots up from her chair, Arrow bearing his teeth and growling, sensing his master’s unease. “That entire assassination was a bloody set up to bring me back to London to do your dirty work! Do you have any idea how scared I was! I thought John was dead you fucking prick!” Mycroft takes her anger in with a smile. “We both know you wouldn’t have come back if I called you.” She’s absolutely seething. “You know how dangerous it is for me to be out in the open like this, Mycroft! What good was it to fake my death if you’re just going to dangle me out in the open like this?”

Mycroft steeples his fingers under his chin. “London needs you, Syn. It was important that you came home immediately.”

“I don’t have a home,” she shoots back. “I don’t put that much sentiment into a place. It useless.” She begins flipping through the detailed reports, absorbing and storing all of the information in its rightful place. “If London needed me so badly why bring back Syn and not The Ghost?” He stands from his chair and pours himself a glass of scotch. “The Ghost is unable to make the personal connections that are needed for this case. Syn, however, is able to.” She narrows her eyes at the elder Holmes suspiciously. “I don’t particularly like where this is going.”

Mycroft smiled widely and she was positive she wouldn’t like whatever he was about to say. “You’re going to be working with a partner.”

-/-

2 years, 5 days, 8 hours, and 19 seconds.

That’s how long it’s been since she’s set foot in London.

There are things she needs to do, things she should’ve done a very, _very,_ long time ago but she can’t bring herself to do it. She probably never will. She does know that ever second she’s out in the open, every second she continues to be Syn and play Mycroft’s little game, that she is putting people lives in danger. The streets buzz with energy and life as she walks and there was a time where she would’ve reveled in the feeling of it. But now she feels nothing, living in a constant state of disconnection. Walls had been built and repaired and all feeling had been locked away in the deepest crevices of her mind.

Her feet stop and looking up a pang of guilt shot through her.

Feeling was locked away but there were those pesky times over the years where she hadn’t been able to contain it.  Feeling was the reason she was back in London, risking everything because the thought of John being dead brought every wall crumbling down. Feeling was the reason why her feet brought her within a few yards of a life she tried so hard to forget.

In gold letters against a black stone read Sherlock Holmes.

She remembers people telling her about the five stages of grief: denial and isolation then anger, bargaining, depression, and finally acceptance. Looking at the black stone in front of her she disconnects again and leaves because she is The Ghost; cold and manipulating. She’s a killer-a highly skilled assassin as Mycroft likes to put it-and she’s not supposed to feel. She’s not supposed to care. It’s not an advantage.

-/-

Angelo’s is practically empty when she arrives and she wastes no time sitting down in the furthest corner, Arrow laying his head in her lap. No matter how many times Mycroft reassures her that she can trust him she refuses to let her guard down. Not again. Not ever. She pulls her scarf away from her face as she waits. Why he chose for her to meet her _partner_ here she hasn’t a clue but it doesn’t sit well with her.

“What can I get for you today ma’am?” The accent is thickly Italian but she doesn’t comment. “I’ll have the special, please.” She says without looking up from the particularly ropey scar on her hand. The waiter lingers for a moment before disappearing. She looks up occasionally, her eyes scanning the crowd but she finds nothing of interest.

The waiter returns rather quickly, setting a steaming plate of food in front of her without a word. She picks at the food in front of her, not even sure what is, for a few minutes before she decided this whole ‘partner’ thing is absolutely ridiculous. Since when has she needed a partner to do a job? With an irritated sigh she slaps a few bills down on the table and covers her face as she leaves. It takes two rings for Mycroft to answer. “I can’t take a liability but considering I was almost 20 minutes late and there was no one remotely interesting I’m beginning to think there never was one to begin with.” There’s a brief pause before he replies. “You’ll thank me for this one day.” The line falls silent with a click and she’s left standing in the street completely enraged and somewhat confused.

She looks down at Arrow who is sitting patiently beside her, shaking her head she sighs. “What am I supposed to do now boy?” He looks at her almost sympathetically as she runs her fingers through his thick black fur. “Ma’am! Excuse me ma’am!” _Waiter._ She contemplates running, it would be easy enough to do and most likely the best choice. She didn’t want people seeing her face for fear they may recognize her. But something nagged at the back of her mind to turn around.

Thunder boomed overhead and raindrops began to fall.

She turned, gunmetal grey eyes and dark curls against alabaster skin make a gasp fall from her lips. Her ears ring. Her mouth goes dry. The surroundings slip away until it is just her and him. _Sherlock._ “No, please, you’re only supposed to be in my nightmares. You’re not supposed to be real.” His smile faltered as he took a step forward. _Falling, falling, falling, dead._ “Syn, I’m alive. It’s really me.” He baritone voice is almost pleading and she’s sure then that she’s lost her mind because he isn’t supposed to sound like that. He reaches out and gently squeezes the hand that’s hanging limply by her side to prove his point.

She blinks away the tears and focuses on his hand still gripping hers. “I watched you fall,” She sounds so small and childlike she almost doesn’t recognize her own voice. “You saw what I needed you to see.” She shook her head, the shock slowly being replaced by anger. “I was the one who identified your body. You were dead, Sherlock.” He squeezes her hand again. “I’m here, Syn. I promise.”

“You’ve been alive this entire time,” She furious now. Two years, _two fucking years._ “Come here,” he steps forward and they’re so close she can see the scar John put on Sherlock’s left cheek and the flecks of gold in his blue eyes. “It’s m-“

Her fist connected with the side of Sherlock’s face before he could finish. “You _ass_! You _utter piece of shit!_ You can’t come back after all this time and tell me you’re alive! Did you really think you could come back from being ‘dead’ and everything be perfectly fine?!” “Syn-“ Her chest hurts and her heart is racing and she can’t take a full breath. “Stop! Please, just stop it!” She backs away and does the only thing she seems to know how to do. She runs.

Rain begins to fall harder, the drops of water stinging her face.

It’s happening again, she can feel it creeping up and taking a hold of her. She stumbles and catches herself on the edge of a building. The world spins and for a moment her throat becomes so tight she can’t breathe. _This can’t be happening. This isn’t real! You can’t let coming back to London get to you! You are better than this! No you aren’t. You are weak. You always have been._ She can’t stop that tears when they begin to fall.

How is she supposed to cope with him being torn from her life and then thrown back in two years later?

She doesn’t run again when he catches up, in all honesty she didn’t want to run in the first place. She hadn’t known what else to do. “Syn, I’m sorry. Moriarty had snipers on John, and Ms. Hudson, and Lestrade, and you. I-I had no other choice. I was almost in contact so many times but I was afraid you would come looking for me. _Look at what you’ve done. It’s all your fault. Everyone thinks Sherlock is dead because of you. You didn’t know when to leave you greedy bitch._ There’s so many things she wants to say, a string of curses to throw at him particularly, but here he is, standing in front of her, _alive._

“I thought…I thought I lost you, Sherlock.”

She doesn’t fight back when he gather’s her into his arms and murmurs apologies over and over again. He pulls away and cups her cheek, his thumb gently brushing away the tears. She leans into his touch, the first welcomed touch in two years. “Moriarty’s network has been destroyed. It’s over.”

-/-

She wanted to tell John and Lestrade and Sherlock together. They deserved the whole truth about what had happened. Getting out of the cab with Sherlock and walking into Speedy’s and seeing both John and Lestrade again lifts this huge invisible weight off her shoulders. For the first time in two years she feels like she can breathe again. Lestrade hugs her first, welcoming her back but John isn’t as happy. “You ran off with him didn’t you? You knew he was faking it all long didn’t you?”

“No I thought Sherlock was dead just as much as you did. Please, just let me explain what happened.”

Leading up to Moriarty’s suicide he managed to obtain all of her information and leak it to the FBI, CIA, Homeland Security, and anyone else who was willing to read it. It had been a handful of days after Sherlock’s fall that Mycroft and a British General informed her of what Moriarty had done. Of course that wasn’t the only reason they had come. General Marcus Pike wanted to offer Syn a clean slate.

A few years prior there was an idea, an idea that a group of highly skilled individuals could be brought together to form a team that would be able to complete any task set in front of them. The catch?

Syn had to die.

She sat in Mycroft’s office and listened intently to her planned suicide with a stoic face. She knew if she didn’t accept John and Lestrade and Molly and Ms. Hudson and Mycroft could potentially be arrested for housing a fugitive. Even though she was given a day to think it over she chose right then in Mycroft’s office. She had done enough damage.

She left John a note the next day saying she needed to get away from Baker Street for a while to think about what she wanted to do next with her life. By the time he found it in the afternoon she was already halfway across the world. A month later a young, blonde woman was found floating in the Thames wearing the same clothes Syn had when she left. There was no way to identify the woman, her fingertips had been burnt off and there was no record of anyone matching her description going missing. Molly confirmed that the blood sample matched Syn’s but with the body being in the river for nearly a month it was possible that it was another one of the Queen’s failures.

Kitty Riley however thought different.

She wrote that a reliable source had confirmed the body discovered in the Thames was in fact the woman behind the scarf. Sarah Braxton was born after that but it was very rare that anyone called her that, only those that she had to give a name to. When she arrived at her new home with General Pike she was introduced to the other 5 members of the Suicide Squad as The Ghost.

She looked around the table, carefully gauging everyone’s expression and finding each expression similar to the ones she received at the hospital when she finally told the truth about who she was. “I didn’t know about the article until a few days ago and I had every intent of reaching out to you John, but Mycroft’s idea of bringing me back to London involved making me think you were dead-“ She fell silent as a bell chimed announcing the arrival of a customer. The way John’s face softened peaked her curiosity enough to make her turn around. _Oh my god._

John stood beside the woman, a loving smile across his face. _Look at what you let happen._ “Syn this is my fiancé, Mary Morstan. Mary, this is Syn.” _Only child, linguist, clever, part-time nurse, shortsighted, guardian, bakes own bread, disillusioned, cat lover, romantic, appendix scar, lib dem, secret tattoo, size 12, liar._ Mary smiled warmly as if she had no idea who Syn was. Of course her ability to lie was always her strongest trait. “Hello Syn, it’s good to finally meet you. John’s told me so much about you.” Mary opened her arms and Syn had no choice but to accept. Sherlock knew she was a liar no doubt but no one else did. She hugged the woman and whispered, “Hurt ho a zomries,” just loud enough for her to hear. _Hurt him and you die._ “Viem, ze,” She replied as she pulled away. _I know._

She watches Mary interact with John and John with Mary and bloody hell they’re so in love. Syn glances over at Sherlock, his eyes darting over to Mary in silent confirmation to her question. He knows she’s hiding something and she knows what it is.

A.G.R.A.

Annabel Gwen Rhea Adams.

International Assassin.

Previous employer: Jim Moriarty.


	10. Ch 10

One of the greatest tragedies in life is to lose your own sense of self and accept the version of you that is accepted by everyone

-K.L. Toth

-/-

The first few days back at Baker Street, Sherlock slept every night. Syn, of course, didn’t. She was afraid she would close her eyes and wake to find it all some twisted dream her mind had come up with to torment her.

Sherlock had offered to let her stay in the bedroom upstairs but she couldn’t. That was John’s bedroom and she knew he would be back eventually. She hung her clothes in the closet in the half John had let her have, her suit hanging in the very back.

She would lay on the couch, nightmares and panic tugging at her until she was certain Sherlock was in a deep sleep. Only then would she allow herself to creep into his room and watch him sleep. It was wrong she knew but she found reassurance in watching the steady rise and fall of the sheets. She feared if she let herself get too comfortable with the idea of Sherlock being alive that he would be ripped away again, this time forever.

She found it unsettling at first how much he slept but she thought maybe he was exhausted from his home coming. The second and third night however made worry bubble within her. She began watching him carefully, noticing how he would slightly wince when he turned a certain way and how much paler he seemed. Even watching him now she could faintly make out angry red lash marks running down his back.

Tonight however she would be able to sit and watch. She had business to attend to. She quietly padded upstairs to John’s bedroom and pulled her suit out. Each member of the Suicide Squad was given one to better conceal their identity.Her suit was black, her shirt was a thin formfitting leather, her chest and back protected by a thin Kevlar vest and her elbows padded. Her pants were the same way, her knees and thighs padded, the end of her pants tucked into her black combat boots. A utility belt hung around her waist, knives tucked into her boots and two guns holstered at her sides, one tucked in the waistband of her pants behind her back. She was given a perfectly conformed black mask and a new balaclava, this one with a hood built with it. She threw her quiver over her shoulder and unfolded her bow before leaving Arrow with strict orders to guard the flat.

-/-

He sat at his desk, the white glow from the computer screen in front of him illuminating the self-satisfied smile playing on his lips. The clicking of computer keys echoed through the silent office building and the occasional chuckle rumbled from his chest. He was completely oblivious.

“Mr. Magnussen,” Her voice was pitched lower and deeper than normal thanks to a small device given to her by General Pike. Charles Augustus Magnussen jumped slightly in his plush leather chair as she stepped out of the shadows. He was frantically paging for security but by the wild look in his eye he knew there was no one to save him. “I’m not here to hurt you,” She raised her hands by her side to prove her point. “But I will if you give me reason to.”

“You’ve been reassigned to that younger Holmes boy and their pet.” He observed. “I’ve been asked to serve be their shadow but there’s been a slight problem and if my memory serves me, you still owe me from the Bangladesh project.” He sat back in his chair and studied her for a moment. “Yes, that’s correct.”

“Mary Morstan. I need to know why her attention shifted to John Watson.” He clicked a few keys on the computer in front of him and smiled. “I suggest you focus your attention elsewhere for the time being.”

-/-

 _All your fault, all your fault. You let them get John. It’s your fault. Your fault. He’s dead. They killed him. Your fault._ Syn was the epitome of a mess as she ran through the halls of Bart’s. She didn’t bother to knock when she found the room she was looking for. Mary was sitting diligently by her fiancé’s bedside, holding his hand as he slept. Without a word she picked up the file in the bin hanging beside the door and flipped through it. Stitches, smoke inhalation, sedative, nothing horrible but the doctors were requesting he stay overnight for observation.

“Syn, you can’t tell Sherlock.” She snapped the file closed. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t? Why shouldn’t I save one of my only friends from marrying a psychopathic assassin? You’ll get bored and leave, we both know that. What if he wants a family? Then what? Do you pop out a kid and then leave or do you kill the baby, break John’s heart, and then leave? Please, enlighten me.”

She smiled lovingly at John. “If you do I’ll kill him.” Syn chuckled. “You won’t kill John.” Mary turned her attention back to Syn, the loving smile on her face remained but the look in her cold, beady eyes was not that of a loving fiancé. “You’re right, I won’t kill John. I’ll kill Sherlock.” Syn rolls her eyes and scoffs even though deep down she knows Mary will. “Kill Sherlock and then what? Kill me? Please, for someone claiming to be an assassin I thought you would’ve had a better plan than that.”

“Would you like to test that theory?” Syn glanced over at John who was beginning to stir from his slumber. “Would _you_ , Ms. Watson?” The loving fiancé was back in a blink of the eye, gently coaxing John out of his slumber.

-/-

When Sebastian died he left everything to Syn. His fortune, his cars, his home, everything was left to her. She knew she couldn’t sell it, no there were too many secrets and memories in that house to let anyone else have it. She didn’t need the money or the cars so she gave everything to Linda. After some protesting from Linda however, the fortune was split down the middle between the two and the house was left to Syn.

She waited until Linda left to park the motorcycle in the garage, careful not to destroy the perfectly manicured lawn in the process. Trekking around to the back of the house she retrieved the key from its elaborate hiding spot in a hollowed out tree root.

Nothing had changed since the last time she had been here. The furniture was neatly polished and not a speck of dust floated around in the air thanks to Linda. It was odd without Sebastian there to fill the silence, he never seemed to shut up now that she thought about it. He was already talking to himself or making jokes or singing a song in that horribly awful voice of his.

She missed him.

The stash of booze he kept in his office was still full thankfully. She grabbed a bottle of whatever was on top to keep her company while she worked.

Upstairs and at the very end of the hall was a room full of computers. When turned off the computers continually projected black and white images of the perimeter of the house, but when on these computers could hack into any system with just a few clicks and decrypt anything within a matter of hours.

While she waited for the computers to boot up she unscrewed the cap on the bottle of whiskey and took a long swig. She had tried everything in the last two years to escape reality but nothing worked. It was hard for her to get drunk thanks to the serum, she would end up with alcohol poisoning before she could truly get wasted. Drugs would burn through her system too fast for her to feel much, the serum attacking and destroying the intrusion to protect her. However she still reveled in the momentary buzz the amber liquid provided as it slid down her throat before it disappeared.

 

Endless amounts of information was at her fingertips in a matter of seconds. She started by searching for key words but 2 hours and a bottle and a half of whiskey later, she had nothing. She began pacing around the small room trying to sort through the mess of thoughts in her mind. 

 

She screwed her eyes shut and tried to _think_. There had to be something she was missing, a variable she wasn’t taking into consideration but _what?_ This information wasn’t on computers so it was extremely sensitive. Kept in someone’s mind where it couldn’t be seen by prying eyes but why?

_Because of you._

-/-

Syn calmly walks through the Diogenes’s club taking deep breaths to remain calm. It would be easy to lash out, to give Mycroft the emotions he’s most likely expecting from her, the emotions she currently straining to suppress but that’s not how she wants to approach this.

As she gets closer to his office she can sense another presence within, most likely General Pike she decides. It would be easy to listen in, get everything she needs and destroy both of them. But she doesn’t. Instead she calmly let’s herself in, stopping both men in mid-sentence as she sits. 

She remains silent and lets them look her over skeptically as she pulls off her sunglasses and scarf. General Pike opens his mouth to break the silence but she doesn’t let him get a word out. “Marcus open your mouth and you won’t have a tongue.” Her voice is cold and serious, the only hint as to what she’s feeling. “I am only going to say this once so listen carefully. I know you brought Syn back for a specific reason and that was not to infiltrate the underground terrorist cell. So I would like to know what the _hell_ is going on.”

A silent communication passes between the older two men as she waited patiently for an answer. It was Mycroft who gave in first. “What exactly do you know?”

“You brought Syn back to keep tabs on her. I am not here for protection and I am not here for the terrorist network. I was not being followed in the field and if I was I would’ve been moved to a safe house. I know that whatever is going on is off record and only known by you two therefore it must be something that could potentially be detrimental. So detrimental that it required the entire Suicide Squad to be present.”

Mycroft sat at his desk, the worry lines across his face making him look years older. With a resigned sigh and pulled a grainy black and white photograph from his desk drawer and set it in front of her. “It’s time.”

-/-

_What do you know about Lord Moran? –SH_

Sebastian’s atrocious half-brother. Smart but clumsy. The only thing him and Sebastian share are the last names. What has he gotten himself into now? –S

_There’s an all-night sitting to vote on the new anti-terrorism Bill. He won’t be there. –SH_

Remember, remember, the 5th of November. The Gunpowder, treason, and plot. Impressive. –S

_There’s an abandoned station on Sumatra Road directly under Parliament. Care to join? –SH_

I would love to but duty calls. Please come home in one piece. –S

_Of course. –SH_

She smiles as she shoves her phone into her pocket. Tonight the Ghost is roaming the streets but this time, she isn’t killing. She watches in distaste as the city below hum with life. Those dull little people going through their monotonous lives, worrying over the most petty of details.

Her team was currently trying to gather any information they could on Mary and find a connection between her work and John’s kidnapping. It was safer this way, nothing could tie directly back to her.

She watches from 12 stories up as people come and go and even from her perch her mind is able to deduce these people just by their body language. A stressed mother carries her sick son on her hip, unaware of the child growing in her womb. Two friends chat over dinner, one is withdrawn trying to hide the fact she’s been sleeping with her friends…sister. Interesting.

The smell of smoke pulls her attention to the skies. A few blocks away smoke billows from a building and screams soon follow. Her curiosity peaked she leaves her spot to find the burning building. It’s a black of flats and judging by the number of windows and number of people on the sidewalk, not everyone is out yet. “Help! I can’t find my son! Oh god he’s trapped inside!”

“Dammit,” She knows the average response time for firefighters is 5 to 7 minutes and she can’t hear the sirens yet. _Detach yourself from the situation._ She tries. She tries to bottle up her emotions and walk away but she _can’t._ It’s something she’s noticed since her time spent at Baker Street. She can’t detach herself from certain situations, she _feels_ too much.

She jumps down the side of the building onto the fire escape and in another great leap she lands somewhat ungracefully in the grimy alleyway. There are 5 levels and 7 windows running along the sides and 3 in the front. With a deep breath she runs across the street and straight into the fire.

-/-

It was the early hours of the morning when Syn drags herself back to Baker Street. Her lungs burn every time she takes a breath and she’s sure there isn’t an area of clothing or skin that isn’t covered in soot and bruises. She quietly closes the flat door behind her and lets her head fall back against the door as exhaustion tugs at her.

She needs to rehydrate and take care of her wounds so they don’t get infected but she’s _so_ tempted to sleep on the floor in her clothes. She feels the presence of someone, no, two people in the flat but her mind is too fuzzy to locate anyone. Arrow begins checking over her in a series or grunts and huffs and deep breaths. Once he’s satisfied he dutifully sits beside her waiting for her to give him a command.

Opening her eyes she finds Sherlock and Ms. Hudson both staring at her. “Hey,” she smiles but it’s hidden behind her balaclava. She removes the offending garment, sliding her mask and hood off in the process. “There was a-a fire. It’ll be on the news…today.” She shuffles into the kitchen and pours herself a glass of water trying to sooth her burning throat.

They’re both still staring when she turns around, their gazes trailing up and down as they take in her suit. “It wasn’t my idea,” she mumbles, weakly motioning up and down. “General Pike thought it was appropriate for all of us to have suits that reflected our names. Ghost equals black apparently.”

The water in the shower is black by the time it reaches the drain. She peels the wet clothes off her body piece by piece, rinsing each article until the water is no longer black. The sound of the violin fills the flat as she emerges from the shower in search of the first aid kit. She doesn’t notice until she tries to reach for something with her left hand just how stiff her shoulder is. She treats her left hand first, rubbing ointment over the blisters and cuts before wrapping her hand in gauze. She attempts to bandage her right hand herself but after a few minutes and several failed attempts she ends up with more ointment on the table than her hand.

That’s how he finds her, bent over the tale with gauze hanging from her mouth and ointment smeared across both the table and her face. He feels a smile tug at the corners of his lips as he quirks an eyebrow at her. “I, um, I think I may need help.” He sits beside her and begins rubbing the cream over her blistered hand with a gentleness that surprises her.

“How big was the bomb?” She finally ask. “It was the entire carriage,” he explains. “Each seat had a smaller explosive and a panel in the floor contained the mother bomb, if you will.”

“Did you finally get an apology out of John then?” He glanced up at her from his bandaging job and smiled. “Yes, John forgave me.” She tests the circulation in her hands as Sherlock washes his hands behind her. Her damp hair is swept over her right shoulder startling her for a moment. “Sherlock what- _oh,”_ a warm hand is placed over her branding and she’s looking at Sherlock’s back again, her hands rubbing away the tension in his shoulder.

A comfortable silence falls between the two as he warms the marking. She stretches her arm out almost completely straight finding little resistance compared to before. “Thanks.” He presses a kiss to the top of her head and murmurs goodnight. “Sherlock?” He pauses in the doorway. “If you ever need anything or want to talk to someone about whatever happened I’m here to listen. You don’t have to but, if you ever do, I’ll listen. I mean I know talking about it is the last thing you really want to do but sometimes you feel better and…I’m sorry I’ll stop.”

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth to stop her ramblings and quickly busies herself with putting things back in the medical kit where they belong. He’s lingering and she can feel him watching her so she tries to make as much noise as she can to fill the silence, so much so that she almost misses what he says. “The bed is more comfortable than the floor.” She freezes in mid-reach, her heart pounding in her chest. She thought she had been careful, she hadn’t sensed changes in his breathing patterns during the night as creepy as that sounded but maybe it was something he had learned how to control during the last two years.

Sherlock liked to think of her as a mishap. A strange occurrence because she ruined the way he thought. She brought down every wall he had put up and made him feel more human than he ever had in his entire life. She made him feel things he hadn’t felt since his days in Uni when he was young and stupid. He only wished he would’ve realized it sooner. “It’s only logical,’’ he continues as her cheeks flame in embarrassment. “Both of us seem to be suffering from nightmares.” “Yeah, right. Okay.” She follows him back to his bedroom and slides under the cool sheets. She watches as he discards his blue dressing gown over a chair and slides in beside her. They lay facing each other, watching in the darkness and soon her eyes begin to droop with sleep.

She’s not sure who falls asleep first but when she wakes with a start in the middle of the night to find a pair of arms snaked around her torso and steady breaths ghosting across her neck, she knows everything is going to be okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this chapter took so long! Please let me know what you think!


	11. Chapter 11

Even though you may want to move forward in your life, you may have one foot on the breaks. In order to be free, we must learn how to let go. Release the hurt. Release the fear. Refuse to entertain your old pain. The energy it takes to hang onto the past is holding you back from a new life. What is it you would let go of today?

-Mary Manin Morrissey.

-/-

The news story of a hooded figure dominated both the news channels and every front page of every newspaper almost every day for a month. There was a video taken on a mobile and a few people recounting what she had done to save their lives. A reporter who had witnessed her rescuing a drowning boy from the Thames called her a hero. She scoffed at that. The last thing she was, was a bloody hero. When it wasn’t the vigilante it was Sherlock and John and Sarah Braxton.

Her team had been unable to gather much about Mary that Syn didn’t already know. On top of that Mycroft has assigned her to a few cases that required her to be out of London for a few days at a time. Of course Sherlock came with her, there was no stopping him either way but when the time came she would be the ones to get her hands dirty, not him.

There had also been a few times when she had been asked for specifically to do a job that required her and her alone. Sherlock knew what she was doing but it didn’t stop her from feeling a bit guilty every time she returned back to Baker Street exhausted and battered more often than not. He knew what she was doing when she had left yet he waited up for her until she returned and continually let her stay.

This morning was a rare one for her considering her last week had been spent tracking down a drug lord that had one too many debts. Opposed to a dingy mattress with suspicious stains and broken springs she woke in a cozy bed with a steady thrumming heartbeat filling her ears, arms trapping her against a warm body, and fingertips ghosting across her arms in small circles. She attempted to drift back to sleep but her mind decided otherwise, kicking into gear and reminding her she had to be dressed in 10 minutes.

Who plans a wedding that’s six months away? Why can’t they just invite a handful of people, get a priest, and get married? It’s all too…extravagant, in her opinion. The entire idea of marriage repulsed her but maybe that was because she had been forced through the process. Of course the idea of a relationship always seemed so farfetched but now…the shrill ring of her phone pulled her away from her thoughts as she blindly began reaching for the source of the sound. “Hello?”

“Are you awake?” _Slash._ “Yeah, what’s going on? Is there another case?” “Mary just made a phone call to an unknown number about five minutes ago.” She was out of the bed in an instant scrambling into the kitchen to retrieve her laptop. “Where did the call trace back to?” “Ghost, Birdie tracked it to Sebastian Moran.” _You never took his pulse. You glanced at him and assumed he was dead._ “Reaper and Dragon have been running surveillance on Mary and while she was out on her morning run a car picked her up and dropped her off at the Diogenes Club.”

“Shit!” The chair in front of her went flying across the room as her foot connected with the wood followed by a long string of curses and an overly detailed explanation on how she planned to gut Mycroft. “He lied to me, the bastard!” Sherlock shot her a questioning look as he appeared in the doorway, buttoning up a light blue dress shirt. “Numbers is working on surveillance for Mycroft’s office but it may take a while considering we’re literally dealing with the British Government.” “Call me in an hour and we’ll discuss what needs to be done next.”

“What has my brother done now?” “What the hell hasn’t he done!” She stormed upstairs, brushing by a very confused Ms. Hudson on her way. She couldn’t leave now, it would bring up too much suspicion when Mary and John arrived. She would have to wait until after they left to get anything done. Muttering curses under her breath she peeled her pajamas off and settled on a light purple button up and khaki pants.

She collected herself before going back downstairs. She needed to look as if nothing had happened. Easy.

“Oh Syn, there you are. I’ve got something I want to ask you.” Bloody hell she had barely walked through the door and Mary already wanted to talk. “Go on,” she said as she poured herself a cuppa. “I was wondering, since I’m relatively new to London and don’t have very many friends yet, I was wondering if you would like to be the maid of honor.” Syn was sent into a coughing fit as she choked on her tea. _This. Bitch._ She purposefully asked in front of Sherlock and John so she would have no choice but to say yes. _Arsehole._

“Yeah...of course.” She said in between coughs. Mary smiled and gleefully returned to making preparations that would, in the very near future, rip out what was left of John Watson’s heart.

Fuck.

-/-

As John and Mary left Baker Street Slash called Syn again. “He-“ “Moran is working for Mycroft.”

“Find him. Now.”

-/-

The Ghost tore through the Diogenes club without a care as to who saw her. She threw open the door to Mycroft’s office and pulled her gun from its holster at her side. “You,” She pointed it at the man sitting across from Mycroft’s desk not bothering to deduce the man who was currently trying not to cry. “Out.” He shot up from his chair and stumbled out, closing the door behind him.

Turning back to Mycroft she pulled the trigger, a bullet whizzing by his left ear. “I am not in the mood to play games Mr. Holmes so I suggest that you give me the answers that I am looking for and I highly suggest they be the truth this time.” _Dilated pupils. Rapid breathing. Tense muscles. Flared nostrils. Body hair standing on end._ He was afraid.

“Mary Morstan was brought here this morning by one of your cars. I want to know what her assignment is.” She could see him mulling over whether or not to tell her the truth so she decided to give him a little extra incentive. Holstering her gun she unsheathed a dagger from her boot. “I learned there are certain spots on the human body that you can stab to prevent a person from bleeding out and passing out. I’ve been dying to test it and you, Mycroft, have put John Watson’s life in danger. I’m sure Sherlock wouldn’t mind once he found out. So, are you still considering lying to me or are you going to tell me the truth?”

“Agent Morstan was assigned to learn who Magnussen’s contacts were, to learn what he is planning. And to learn what Magnussen knows about foreign governments and other important figures.” Not completely satisfied she began twirling her dagger between her fingers. “Why allow her to continue her work when she has a pressure point…unless you purposefully gave her one to allow Magnussen to think he had her under his thumb once he figured it out.” Mycroft smiled humorlessly at her. “You always were exceptionally clever.”

“Moran is in custody.” Reaper radioed in on the small earpiece she wore. Sheathing her dagger she decided it was better she keep her knowledge of Sebastian to herself for now. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Holmes.”

-/-

Classified Location: England

The England ‘Command Center’ was housed in an abandoned warehouse miles away from civilization. Inside military personnel dashed back and forth between computers and various monitors and heavily armed guards with assault rifles kept a watchful eye on each person. Back in a separate room away from prying eyes and ears was a grey soundproofed room and sitting at a metal table with his hands uselessly handcuffed was Sebastian Moran.

In all reality she supposes she thought he would look different, sick or unkempt, maybe. But he didn’t. He looked the same as when she had first met him, minus the huge shit eating grin that was currently spread across his face as he realized who had come to visit.

She used to trust him.

“I’m impressed,” she finally said. “You actually fooled me. The whole scene at the pub and in the car before the fall; the hyperawareness, the desperation. You had the whole criminal community believing the great Sebastian Moran died protecting his love. What I don’t understand is, why?” He wasn’t listening to a thing she said, she could see it in the way he was watching her. Sebastian had his own way of reading people just as she did and even with her suit on she felt completely exposed in front of him. He knew her better than anyone. “You chose him. You chose the Detective over me. You did this, Syn. You always held me back but not anymore.”

“But, even after faking your death, you still protected me. You brought in Alec, and Gio, and Spencer, and David to free me and kill the Queen’s,” she tilted her head to the side. “You were supposed to die out there. You weren’t supposed to live, but you did.” He smiled again, but this smile was twisted and cruel and it made chills run down her spine. “If you could only see the big picture. If you only knew what was really going on. It’s wonderful.”

She could hear shouting outside the door but it wasn’t until it was too late. “This interrogation is officially over.” Mycroft strode in, umbrella in hand and Anthea in tow. “Mr. Moran is to be released immediately and left alone.” Her jaw was slack behind the black fabric of her balaclava. “What the hell Mycroft! You can’t just let a wanted criminal go!”

“Mr. Moran has been placed under witness protection.” Anthea smacked out as she typed away on her mobile. “He’ll be moved to a safe house where he will be monitored day in a day out. Whatever it is you suspect him of I’m sure it’s only a misunderstanding due to previous relations.” If it wasn’t for Mycroft she would’ve knocked the ditz out a long time ago.

She watched helplessly as Mycroft uncuffed Sebastian and led him out of the interrogation room. She watched the two interact as they walk away, a theory beginning to form in her mind as she watched Mycroft let Sebastian take the lead. “Was Moriarty’s suicide a fake too?” The entire base falls silent at the mention of the name and she doesn’t miss the look Mycroft shoots Sebastian. “Of course not,” Sebastian throws over his shoulder without missing a beat. “If it was, you’d be dead by now.”

He always was a good actor.

-/-

It was almost dark when Syn returned to London, sleep beginning to tug at her. Parking a few blocks away she effortlessly managed to slip into the morgue of St. Bart's unseen. Molly was filing paperwork over her last autopsies of the night when she stepped inside. She could see the split second of fear in Molly's eyes and maybe it would've been better if she would've shed her suit first but it was too late for that now. “Molly, it's me Syn.” She pulled off her mask and balaclava to prove her point, Molly’s shoulders sagging in relief. “I need to ask you a question about something. What happens to dead bodies when no one claims them? It's for a case.” 

 

“Well if the next of kin can't be found or doesn't want to take care of arrangements the body will be donated to a university. Once the university is done with the body it's cremated and taken to a funeral home where it will sit for a year. If the body is still unclaimed then the remains will be buried or scattered.” She explained. “I could help you if you need me too.”

 

 _Can you trust Molly?_ Of course she can. Molly kept the secret about her death and undoubtedly helped Sherlock fake his. She’s loyal. She always has been. _She dated Moriarty. She could be working for him._ Molly working for Jim? She’ll believe that when pigs fly. _What about Sebastian then? Could he have her under his thumb?_ No of course not. That’s ridiculous. Moriarty completely underestimated Molly’s usefulness.

 

“I’m looking for Moriarty.” Her hand froze above the paper of the report. “He’s dead. Mycroft took care of it.” She continued filing out the report, refusing to look at Syn. “I trust you Molly, I trusted you and Sherlock trusted you and you haven’t let us down. If there’s something going on you need to tell me. I can protect you.” She shook her head, a forced smile spread across her lips. “I’m fine. You may want to leave though, someone’s coming to pick up this body in a few minutes.”

 

She was beginning to wish she would’ve paid more attention.

-/-

Syn’s stripping off her hood and mask behind the door of Baker Street when her phone pings in her pocket. Unlocking her screen two picture messages from an unknown number are waiting for her. Clicking the first picture she sees the torso of a male victim, the skin covered in gouging wounds and a sheen of sweat, muscles straining. For a moment she thinks Sherlock used someone’s phone to send her crime scene photos but the man in the photo was obviously still alive.

She flips to the next picture and revulsion is surging through her.

The victim was on his knees and bent forward unnaturally, arms cuffed behind his back, a booted foot pining his upper body down. He was naked, dirty trousers around his knees, what she could see of his back was bloody and bruised, and there, kneeling behind him was another soldier, fingers digging into the man’s hips, body canted forward obscenely – Horrified she turned off the screen.

She took a few deep breaths to keep down the growing urge to vomit. Who was the man in that photo? Exiting out of the picture she sent a text to the number; _who is this?_

The reply was almost immediate: _An interested party._ Confused, she sent off another text; _what do you want?_ There was a pause before she received another text, a picture message following it. _Someone’s been keeping secrets from you._ This picture was a bit blurry but she could make out the victims lean figure, a white tank covering his abused torso, black trousers pulled up to his hips, shoulder length matted black hair covering the victims face from view, a gun held in front of him, and bodies lying dead at his feet.

She hit call but was disconnected immediately.

Another text came in right after, different number. _I will contact you. This is a demonstration of just how much I know._ Another picture message came through and with a pounding heart, she opened it. That same long, dark, matted hair, the same sweat and blood and bruising, but now the victim was looking straight at the camera; distinctive eyes staring at the lens, exhausted, in pain, defiant.

_Sherlock._

She’s up the stairs and tearing through the silent flat in an instant. _He’s dead. You let that happen. It’s all your fault. You should’ve figured it out sooner. Your fault._ A sweaty hand is fisted in her hair as the tears begin to stream down her face. She can feel that _thing_ happening to her again, threatening to consume her and tear her apart, its coming and she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to stop it this time. She stumbles back to his (their?) bedroom and that’s where she finds him, his back against the headboard, fingers steepled under his chin, his eyes closed, his chest slowly rising and falling.

“Oh god,” he peaks open an eye and immediately sits up, his full attention on her. “What happened?” It all makes so much sense; the closeness, him letting her sleep in the same bed as him, sleeping at night. “I thought…s-someone sent me this,” she hands him her phone with shaking hands and watches him flip through the images. His eyes give away the pain and fear despite the stoic expression on his face. “Sherlock-“

“Can we not?” he snapped, his fingers tightening around her phone. “I don’t want, I _can’t_ bear your pity.” He keeps his head hung, his gaze boring holes into the carpet. “I understand if you don’t want to talk about it. But if you do, I’m here to listen. I didn’t ask, you’re my best friend and I didn’t ask.” She runs a hand through her hair as she mentally berates herself. “What do you want to know?” His voice was a razor. “Did they water-board me before or after the gang rape?”

She closes her eyes, a few more tears escaping. “Jesus…”

“Oh don’t worry, they soon gave up on that when I didn’t respond the way they wanted me to. Moved on, scraping my back open with a screwdriver was much more effective. Sleep deprivation, beatings, my drug habit seemed to amuse them the most.” He returned to staring at the spot on the carpet.

“You should have taken me with you. You should have let me keep you safe, it was my _job-“_  “And risk that happening to you instead?” he hissed, low and vicious, tears beginning to brim in his grey eyes. “Don’t you _see_? That was _not_ an acceptable outcome. I had to focus effectively. I had to know you were safe and if that meant you thinking I was dead, _then so be it_.”

She stared at him dumbfounded. How could he be so blind? “You might’ve died.” She bit out. “I’d never have known what a fucking idiot you were for jumping off Bart’s to save everyone, you brilliant bastard.” She was furious, so furious, because Sherlock, brilliant, amazing, vibrant, Sherlock Holmes, had put her, broken, meaningless Syn, had put her life and health above his own.

When he doesn’t acknowledge her, she gets down on her knees in front of him and tilts his head up so she can see him. Her heart breaks at the sight of him, his jaw clenching as he tried to keep his composure, self-hate and pain evident behind the unshed tears. She holds his face in her shaking hands and gently thumbs away the tears that fall.

There’s so much she wants to tell him, she wants to tell him how much he means to her, how there was a physical ache in her chest every single day during his absence, she wants to tell him everything but she _can’t._ So, she wraps her arms around him and he only hesitates for a moment before wrapping his arms around her, his face buried in the crook of her neck. She could feel his breath against her skin, could feel his body tremor against hers, and finally, she felt him relax against her. She gently rubbed her hands over his back in the same places that she’d seen bloody and abused, feeling him shudder against her. “Shh,” she whispered. “I’ve got you. Let me keep you safe.”

He sighed and she felt his arms tighten in return. “You did,” he breathed. “You were there, you were _always_ there, in my head, telling me to hold on, to come back.”

She thinks back to the night at the hospital when Sebastian had been injected and Sherlock had given her a name. Pulling back so she can look at him, her hands cupping his face and his arms still wrapped around her, she tells him what he told her. “You aren’t alone anymore, Sherlock.”

That night, long after Sherlock’s breathing had evened out and his eyes flickered back and forth as he dreamed another picture message came through. Sleep had long ago evaded Syn and her mind refused to slow down but as she unlocks her mobile it still takes her a minute to register what she’s seeing and another to convince herself what she’s seeing is real.

She throws her phone against the wall (throwing things is beginning to become a habit when she’s angry she notices) and begins to pace the length of the bedroom, muttering curses under her breath all the while. She goes back and finds her phone (thankfully undamaged) and looks at the picture again just to make sure she’s really seeing what she thinks she is.

Looking through a sniper rifle at John Watson was none other than Mary Morstan.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Feedback is greatly appreciated!


	12. Chapter 12

The crazy thing about being betrayed is, you don’t just lose trust in people, you begin to doubt whether or not you can trust yourself, your judgment, and your emotions.

-Rob Hill Sr.

-/-

“I think there are undercover agents on the inside.” After receiving the damming picture of Mary last night Syn found herself unable to sleep let alone stay still. She paced the flat all through the night, Arrow curling up in the bed and watching her until the first rays of sunlight began peaking over the horizon. It was then that she threw on the first pair of clean clothes she could find and began walking towards Scotland Yard.

“Ghost, it would be impossible for anyone to just slip in you know that.” She grit her teeth in annoyance. “Bird, all I’m saying is that I think it’s best if you and the others split up and get away from London until we know for sure. The whole point of an undercover is to be sneaky, these people could’ve been on the inside since we were activated.” She glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “Number’s says your just being paranoid because Sebastian’s back.” Slash said.

“Tell him he can piss off! I’m apparently the only one who has any common sense left! How do the red flags not go off when Mary Morstan, who is working for Mycroft at the moment to kill one of our most valuable business partners, talks with a man who was assumed dead a week ago? Let’s not forget said woman also worked for Moriarty prior to his death. Christ I’m working with a bunch of dim fu-“

“I think what the rest of your team is trying to say is, everything is under control.” She stopped walking. “General, I wasn’t aware you were listening in.” “I think it’s in everyone’s best interest if you just let this drop. Everything’s fine, your just overthinking the situation. Everyone is completely safe and the base is one hundred percent mole free.” _Liar. He’s lying to you. He’s hiding something._ “And who exactly is everyone?” There’s a pause, its brief, not even a second long, but she picks up on it and the theory in her head continues to rapidly grow. “Don’t look into this anymore. That’s an order.” The line clicked and she was left feeling more unsettled than she had in a very long time.  

Her mobile began ringing again, this time it was Lestrade. “Where are you? I have a case.”

-/-

She met Lestrade in the emergency room lobby of Bart’s twenty minutes later. “Nadia Lourdes, 16 years old. House caught on fire early this morning. Her younger sister died in ICU about an hour ago, her parents we’re pronounced dead at the scene. Her father was a very intelligent biochemist and her mother worked for Homeland Security, they were good people, no one had anything bad to say about them. It’s a shame really.” Satisfied that she had all the information she needed safely tucked away she gave Lestrade back his files and stepped into the darkened room.

The room was silent, the machines occasionally beeping and pumping and hissing, feeding the blonde medication that would only be able to relieve the physical pain. The only source of light came from above her bed but it was enough for Syn to see the features of the girl. Her green eyes were sunken in and bloodshot, fresh tear tracks visible on her cheeks. A few patches of white gauze covered the girl’s arm where she had been burnt.

She gave the girl a small smile and pulled a chair up beside her bed. “Hi Nadia, my name is Sarah and this is Detective Inspector Lestrade. I’m here to ask you a few questions about what happened.” She looked up long enough to shoot Syn and Lestrade a dirty look before returning to picking at the hospital sheets. “I already talked to the police. I don’t remember anything and I don’t want your pity. Please, leave.”

“Good, I’m not here to pity you. I’m here to catch your families’ killer." Fresh tears began rolling down her cheeks. “I don't remember anything. The alarms woke me and I smelled smoke so I ran outside.” Syn handed her a few tissues from the box sitting on the table beside her. “Walk me through this last week. Did anything strange happen? Was there a party or anyone at your home you didn’t recognize?”

“My parents threw a party. There were a lot of people in and out of the house this last week.” Syn reached out and took the girls hand in her’s. “Did you notice anyone who didn’t look like they belonged or looked at you in a way that made you feel uncomfortable?” She shook her head. “I wasn’t paying much attention and I wasn’t at home very often during the preparations.”

“I'm going to have officers posted at your door. If anyone who isn't a doctor gets through that door they're going to be arrested, okay?” She sniffed a few times, wiping the wetness on her cheeks away with the back of her hand. “Okay.”

-/-

_John just asked me to be his best man. –SH_

_You didn’t see that coming? –S_

_No. –SH_

_You’re his best friend. Who else was he going to ask? –S_

_I have to write a speech now. –SH_

_What am I supposed to say? –SH_

_John wants me to compose a piece for his and Mary’s first dance. –SH_

_The wedding is three weeks away. –SH_

_You’re panicking. –S_

_I’ll help you when I get home, yeah?  –S_

_I’m not panicking. –SH_

She smiled as she slid her phone into her pocket and hurried to catch up with Lestrade. “Do you think the killer knew the family?” Lestrade asked. “No, he's too specific to know the parents personally. Look for someone who may have passed by, an IT guy or a handy man maybe, someone who could’ve been called to the house and someone who would’ve been at the house during the preparations. Whoever he is would’ve either visited their office or home more than once in the last month. Statistically speaking you’re looking for a male in his mid-thirties who lives alone and is socially withdrawn.” She took a moment to look over Lestrade and other than the fact he was talking to his ex-wife, again, she couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. 

“Lestrade do you know what ever happened to Moriarty's body?” He stopped walking and shot her an incredulous look. “I think Mycroft took care of it. Have you asked him?” She looked up and down the hall and once she was sure there was no one close enough to hear, she voiced part of her theory. “There's something going on, Lestrade. Something's not right, I can feel it in my gut. Things aren't adding up since I've been back and I'm starting to think maybe Sherlock wasn't the only one to fake his death.” 

He ran a hand through his hair as he gave an exasperated sigh. “Syn he blew his brains out. He's dead. You can't keep living like this, just relax and live your life. This is what you've wanted isn't it?” Isn't it?

_Of course but I'm supposed to be dead too. I was supposed to kill him. He wasn't supposed to kill himself. It wasn't supposed to end like that. There wasn't supposed to be a happy ending. I wasn't supposed to have a family or friends. I wasn't supposed to be happy._

“Yeah, yeah of course it is.” He gave her shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “Why don't you go home and get some sleep? I'll have a few officers over here in a few minutes okay?” She nodded. “Yeah, okay. Thanks Lestrade.” Maybe he was right. _Of course he's not._

Her mobile buzzes in her pocket just as she’s getting ready to leave. It’s another picture message from the interested party. Unlike the ones before this one was black and white and grainy but she could make out three figures, one was obviously Mary, her short blonde hair giving her away, and the other was unmistakably Sebastian.

The third man, the one who was shaking Mary's hand, was shorter than Sebastian but still taller than Mary, his suit neatly pressed and expensive, perhaps Westwood but it was difficult to tell given the picture quality. Even though the picture wasn’t stamped with a date and she can't see the man's face, fear begins to fester within her. She’s being cornered and running out of options so she does the only thing she can think of.

She calls Magnussen.

-/-

Her shoulders are tensing and her back is beginning to ache from stress as she walks through the streets. She called Mary as soon as she finished talking with Magnussen and tried to come up with a reasonable excuse to see her immediately but after stumbling over her excuses repeatedly she settles on, “We need to talk.”

Mary’s waiting for her in the furthest corner of the pub they agreed to meet at, two beers sitting untouched on the table. Syn notices how she’s bordering between Mary and AGRA and decides that it wasn’t a particularly bad thing. “How’s the wedding planning going?” She doesn’t know if she should jump right in and tell her or if she should ease her way into it.

“You’re not here to talk about the wedding so why don’t you stop wasting my time and tell me why you’re really here.” Jump right in it is. “Why did you choose this life?” Mary reaches forward and takes a swig of beer. “Where is this coming from?” Syn takes a swig from her own beer, a bit surprised that Mary didn’t take the opportunity to slip something in her drink. “A maid of honor needs to know these things.” She said with a smug smile.

“I craved the danger.” Syn nods, it makes sense. “I suppose a woman who was stuck caring for her mother for several years before becoming an orphan _would_ crave danger,” Annabel sits back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest and narrowing her eyes in an accusatory manner. “I did my research Ms. Adams, however, I am curious as to how long you’ve been working for Mycroft.” Her eyes, cold and calculating pierce through her. “That’s none of your business.”

Syn takes another sip of her beer. “That’s true, but it became my business when you decided to let John Watson unknowingly play pressure point so you could get to Magnussen.” Her head tilts to the side as she gauges Syn’s reactions. “You didn’t tell Sherlock did you?”

“No,” She scoffed. “It’s only a matter of time before he finds out though but tell me, _Mary,_ when did you first fall in love with John? Was it at the pool when John was strapped in the bomb jacket, or was it when you watched him lose his best friend through the scope of your gun? I’m curious as to which it is, maids of honor should know these kinds of things in case people ask.”

She didn’t call Mary up to meet her here and taunt her, no, that was just because she could, because she knew and it was just too damn tempting to let it go. The look of panic and confusion on her face made it worth it though. “Who told you about that?"

“That’s the reason I asked to see you. It seems that there is an interested party that knows everyone’s secrets and has proof to back it up. As someone who has been in a similar situation I think it would be best if you took your case to Sherlock before someone ends up hurt.” Her face went blank as if considering Syn’s suggestion but it disappeared, Mary coming back. “Everything’s going to be fine,” she assured her. “Magnussen is clueless.” Syn let her leave after that, something about flowers arrangements that needed to be tended to. Probably just an excuse to check on Magnussen’s movements. She sits and finishes her beer alone, guilt festering in her gut despite her growing distaste for the woman.

As she’s getting ready to leave an unknown number texts her. _Meet at rally 2 at 22:30. We need to talk. –Bird._ Shoving her phone back in her pocket she pays for her drink and heads for the nearest shop.

-/-

She comes home to a silent flat, not even the sounds of Arrow’s paws coming across the carpet to greet her fills the flat. Instead, she finds Sherlock laying across the couch, fingers steepled under his chin, eyes closed, and Arrow, sleeping across his chest. “I save your life and you don’t even greet me at the door,” she grumbles as she deposits the two shopping bags in Sherlock’s room.

Books are scattered everywhere along with various pieces of paper, some written on and some balled up and thrown into a pitiful excuse of a pile. The kitchen table is covered in Sherlock’s latest attempt not to smoke, which looked to be blowtorching something. Picking up and dumping out Sherlock’s cold cup of tea she found the eyeball that had fallen victim.

She has three hours until she has to meet with Bird so she showers and begins the process of covering up the scars on her arms and legs with makeup. There weren’t many, just a few here and there, a burn mark or two, but she thought it would be better to keep them covered. The dress she bought was short and black, with one shoulder that covered the M on her back along with a majority of the scars on her back. What the dress doesn’t cover her hair will. She pins her hair away from her face and forgoes makeup considering where she’s going will be dark and everyone will be drunk. She packs the small black clutch she bought with a stun gun, a few vials of sedative and a pocket knife since the dress and heels won’t be able to conceal any sort of weapon.

Sherlock’s awake and blowtorching something again in the kitchen when she finally comes out of the bathroom. “Sherlock, I’m going out.” She walks into the kitchen to get a glass of water before she leaves and to make sure Sherlock had heard her. “Do you want me to bring anything back?” She turns to face him, his eyes darting between her face and the rest of her. “Where are you going exactly?” “I have a case,” she explained. “I have to go to a club."

“You’re working a case looking like _that?_ ” “You’re right, let me just go change into my suit and waltz into the club. I’m sure no one will spare me a second glance then.” She muttered sarcastically. “Are you afraid someone will try to chat me up and take me home for a quick shag?” When he doesn’t say anything she begins to wonder if he thinks that’s exactly what will happen. “Don’t worry,” she reassures. “No one would be stupid enough to take me home.”

The club isn’t far but she’d rather not walk in the heels she’s wearing so she hails a cab to take her the few short blocks to meet Bird. She easily slips in the back and begins to wedge herself between the abundance of obnoxiously drunk people.

Bird is waiting for her at the bar and to anyone who didn’t know her they would think she was just another woman left alone at the bar, but Syn can see the serious expression on her face and she knows whatever is going on, isn’t good. “How bad is it?” The raven haired woman sighed. “Pike’s put all of us on an even shorter leash and painted a bright red target on ours heads.” Syn turned to the bartender and ordered the strongest thing they had.

“What made him do that?” “You. He’s worried you’re going to influence us all negatively, plant ideas of rebellion in our heads, I’ve heard you have a tendency to do that when you don’t agree with how things are going.” She smirked and downed the shot glass that had been placed in front of her. “I guess so. What else happened because I know you wouldn’t bring me here just for that.”

“You were right. There are people on the inside.” Syn ordered another shot. “An agent who didn’t exist until a year ago has been working closely with the General, going overseas and speaking personally everyone of significance in the criminal community. He’s even been speaking with CIA, FBI, Home Land Security, and the President.” A silence fell between the two as the news sunk in. “Jesus Christ, I should’ve known this was going to happen when I joined. This shit _always_ happens.” She twirled her shot glass around a bit before kicking it back.

“So, does that mean Pike wants Magnussen to be killed? He said he wanted me to drop it, not to look into it any more. What if Magnussen has something on Pike?” Bird straightened herself and smiled tightly. “I think you should listen to what he’s saying. He’ll kill your boyfriend and your family if he finds out you’re looking into this anymore, that’s reason enough to me to stay on his good side.” She turned to leave but stopped herself.

“You’re the lucky one, you have a life and friends and someone who loves you. Pike may say we’re all expendable but in all reality, you’re the only one who never has been. Do your missions as you’re asked and you will continue to have military protection. The agent will be taken care of if he begins to draw too much attention to himself. Goodnight, Syn.” She’s left standing at the bar alone, her mind in overload sorting, processing, and storing information, her frustration growing and growing. Why tell her about the mole? Unless she missed something? She replayed the conversation in her head focusing on the emphasis put on words and facial expressions but came up empty.

_She’s on a short leash. She’s being watched, most likely she was followed here. Caught the eye of a handler. Or Pike sent her here to tell you. You act, he kills. How much more blood do you want on your hands? Don’t look into it and everyone will be happy. Don’t tell Sherlock about Mary and Sebastian and he lives. You got what you wanted. A home where you’re accepted as you. Don’t want to be alone again now do you?_

No.

God, no.

-/-

When Mary gets home the house is silent. There’s a note on the counter from John; a house call is all it says. She empties her hands of grocery bags and fetches the post. There’s a bill and a few replies to the wedding invitations she sent out, but one of the letters at the very bottom doesn’t have a postmark. It’s labeled, simply, AGRA. The other letters fall from her hand as she rips it open.

_I know what you are. Bistro Pearl, 4PM._

She texts Mycroft: _Magnussen knows._ He responds immediately: _Excellent. You may proceed._

She walks into the restaurant at the appointed time and finds it empty except for Magnussen, two of his guards, and a chef who looked as if he was going to pass out at any moment. The guards stand on either side of Magnussen as he eats, hands clasped behind their backs, looking bored. “Hello Mary,” Magnussen says. “Or should I say, Annabel? Come, have a seat.”

She tries to look panicked, it’s not hard. She doesn’t know how much he’s uncovered about her. She listens as he lays out her childhood, the car crash that didn’t really kill her parents, her trail of free-lance assassinations, her business done with Moriarty, and her part in his suicide. He tells her everything with a smile on his face as he eats his escargot.

“Tell me,” he says, “What do you think Doctor Watson would say when he finds out these things about his wife? Excuse me-you’re married yet-do you think he will still love you when he finds out?” The real panic begins to set in then.

“Please,” She breaths. “Please, don’t tell him.” He beckons her over and she walks over to him. His wipes his mouth on the sleeve of her blouse and his hands on her trousers. “Tell me, how does it feel to be owned? Does it feel a bit…slimy?” He plucks a snail from his plate and drags it down the side of her face, down her neck, and down the top of her sternum before depositing it down her blouse. It leaves a trail of butter and garlic and _slime_ down her torso. He repeats this a few more times, a smug look on his face the entire time.

She’s shocked at how violated she feels just through this simple act. It’s one thing to watch from afar, another to be the one experiencing it. “What do you want?” Her voice is trembling along with the rest of her and it’s no longer a part of some convincing act. “Well, Ms. Adams, I have heard you have a cousin who’s in Parliament.”

 -/-

 Syn’s not alone for long when a man walks up to the bar, taking the place Bird was at, pulling her from her thoughts long enough to look him over. _32, single, CEO, American, no pets, business trip, unarmed, overweight, untreated heart condition, right sleeve of an internet porn addict._

“You look lonely, mind if I buy you a drink?” She smiled sweetly and accepted his offer, call it a little experiment of hers (and hey, if he was paying she wasn’t complaining). The American scoots closer when the drinks arrive and she has to fight not to back away from the invasion of her personal space. “You come alone?” She feels a hand wrap around her waist and smiles. “No, actually.” The shorter man shoots Syn a dirty look as he stomps off. “You knew I was here?” She smiles up at Sherlock. “I could practically hear you running around trying to get dressed. I’m not going anywhere, you know. Not unless you decided to come to your senses one day and kick me out.”

He smiled. “Let’s hope that never happens.” She pays for her drinks and follows him out. They walk in silence until they pass by the British Museum and she notices his gaze lingering, looking at the building with a hint of longing. “Do you want to go?” He looks between her and the building and she makes his mind up for him. “Come on, let’s go. I’ve never been to a museum before. Please?” He tries to look serious about the decision but the smile spreading across his face tells a different story.

He’s buzzing with energy when they get inside, the same way he buzzes when he gets a new case or when a case takes an unexpected turn. He begins by telling her everything he knows about the first few exhibits, and she even throws a few things back that she’s learned in her travels around the world. Soon they’re practically running through the empty museum and sometimes when she’s not moving fast enough he takes her hand and _drags_ her along.

They spend the most time at the Egyptian exhibit (it must be his favorite, she decides) alternating between silent observation and explanations and stories. “You know I’ve actually seen the Great Pyramids of Giza in person?” He looks at her with childlike awe. “Seriously?” “Yeah, I was passing through and I thought maybe it would help throw off whoever was following me. It was incredible Sherlock, I wish you could’ve been there to see it. Pictures do it no justice whatsoever."

They move through the exhibits slower after that, the smile still never leaving his face, until they’re kicked out. During the walk home he continues to tell her things about the exhibits he didn’t have time to tell her while they were there until they arrive back at Baker Street. Arrow greets both of them at the door, his tail wagging enthusiastically as he sniffs them over until he’s satisfied they’re both fine. Sherlock’s playing his violin when Syn emerges from the shower and for the first time since she’s been at Baker Street the melody is a happy one. She smiles and tucks away the night in her mind palace because she knows that this won’t last. She knows what’s lurking in the horizon, threatening to tear everyone apart all over again.

She knows this is the calm before the storm.


	14. Ch 14

Sometimes I ask myself, “Do I have the courage to do the right thing when it matters the most?” And that answer, I’m afraid, is silence.

-Jarod Kintz

-/-

It’s early May, a day before the wedding and everything is beautiful.

The chill of winter has left her bones, the warmth of spring warming her veins, banishing the ice cold wintry nips. The colors of spring become tattooed onto the land. The bright flowers popping through, leaves stretching out, warm gentle winds, and the rat-a-tat-tat of a spring shower. Its spring and that means new life.

Syn and Sherlock are both at the church helping put the final touches and setting up the venue for the rehearsal dinner later tonight. The article she asked Kitty to publish would be on the front page of every newspaper across town in a few hours but no one would know yet, the daily news takes second to planning a wedding.

She stays busy doing odd jobs to keep her mind blank. She can’t think about tomorrow, she can’t think about losing John, she can’t. The day flies by, morning turning into evening much too quickly. She considers faking an illness to get out of the dinner but decides against it when she sees the panicky look on Sherlock’s face. She isn’t the only one having a hard time with this.

It’s hard for her to believe that just a week ago was stag night.

With a heavy heart she puts on a smile and goes inside the church.

There’s blissful laughter and conversation among her friends, all of them doting on the bride-to-be. _How beautiful. I’m so happy for John. She’s absolutely glowing! I can’t wait to see the dress._ She brushes by to find Annab-Mary at the center of it all, simply beaming. “It looks lovely, Syn. Thank you so much for everything.” She flashes the glowing bride a brilliant fake smile. “It’s no problem. I wanted to make sure everything was perfect for John.” Mary’s smile falters in understanding. None of this was for her, Syn did it for John because this is what he deserves.

Sherlock and John both come striding in, the taller man in a deep, one-sided conversation with his friend. A conversation that quickly dies on his lips as John leaves his side to find his soon-to-be-wife. Both the assassin and the detective are left standing alone, watching an important part of their lives leave them in the past.

The rehearsal goes smoothly, drinks helping to lighten the mood even more. She’s able to maintain her composure behind a stoic mask until she watches Mary walk up the aisle. It’s as if everyone is the room has disappeared and it’s just her and John. He meets her halfway and they walk to the altar together, slowly, lovingly. They stop and face each other, John beaming and she can’t stay any longer.

She pulls her phone from her pocket and presses it to her ear to cover her hasty exit. A few moments later the sound of the tires of her motorcycle can be heard inside as they screech against the pavement. _That’s the only thing you’re good at; running._ The road blurs as she presses harder on the gas.

She collapses as soon as she’s inside the safety of Baker Street. It’s ugly sobs, loud and long, the kind of sobs that you don’t want anyone to hear. Arrow curls up against her but not even he can make her feel better. She stays like that until her legs go numb and she’s reduced to sniffles. Only then does she stiffly climbs the stairs to get to work starting a fire in the fireplace. Once a decent flame is beginning to form she retreats into the bathroom to wash away the evidence of her breakdown.

The fire is crackling, casting an orange glow across the room. She curls up in John’s chair and mindlessly watches the flames flicker. Her mobile buzzes in her pocket with a barrage of phone calls and texts. Mycroft, Pike, Lestrade, the unknown number, Sebastian, Magnussen, she ignores them all. Her head fall back against the chair with a sigh and closes her eyes.

>File

  >Search

    >Organization

      >Name: HYDRA

        >Searching….

           >NO RESULTS FOUND

>File

  >Search

    >Name: HYDRA

       >Searching….

          >Lernaean Hydra

          >Hydra (Genus)

          >Hydra (Constellation)

Maybe she’s just being paranoid.

A cab pulls up outside Baker Street and wanting to avoid conversation, Syn goes to bed. Just as she’s laying down the door open and she realizes it wasn’t just Sherlock, there was someone else with him. “And who has these letters Ms. Smallwood?” Lady Smallwood? What on Earth is she-“Charles Augustus Magnussen.” “No,” it slips past her lips in an exhale that leaves her breathless. If Magnussen gets involved she’ll have to step back. She can’t get involved, it’s too risky with the business relationship they have. He can’t find out about her.

Sherlock takes the case and the day goes from bad to worse. He doesn’t understand what Magnussen is fully capable of. He’ll let something slide about Mary and Sherlock will try to protect her and she’ll kill him or Magnussen or both. Mary will do whatever it takes to prevent John from finding out the truth and the thought of how far she’ll go to do that chills Syn to the bone.

Lady Smallwood leaves and she pretends to be asleep as Sherlock strips out of his suit in the darkness. The bed dips under his weight as he slides in, Arrow jumping up to lay across their feet. He pulls her towards him, his arms wraps around her waist. He places a kiss on her temple before drifting off, sleep soon taking her as well.

-/-

Mary wakes with a sense of foreboding and disorientation so strong she feels physically ill. She shoots up, panicking, and then remembers. She’s getting married today. She breathes deeply, swallowing the rising panic and slowing her racing heart.

She gets up and paces around the small hotel room, unused to nerves. Across the room her phone vibrates and her heart drops to her stomach. This is it, she thinks, there’s an emergency and she has to cancel the wedding. She slips into the bathroom with her phone and with shaking hands she opens the message and nearly cries with relief.

Yes.

Mycroft approved her plan. Finally. She smiles and bites her knuckle to stop the joyful noises she wants to make. She grins at her reflection. She might actually get a fairytale wedding and everything she’s dreamed of.

-/-

The next morning Syn is numb.

It’s not the kind of numb feeling you get when your foot falls asleep and then hurts for a bit and then wakes back up. This is the kind of numb feeling you get when you’re too cold and you have to force your body to move. It settles in her bones and makes her body ache. She allows herself a few minutes to break down before composing herself. Ms. Hudson is down the hall talking about how marriage changes people and she wishes for just once that the older woman would just shut up.

She silently grabs her things and slips on her shoes as the two converse, kissing Arrow goodbye before slipping out the fire escape. She ignores all of the missed calls and voice messages and goes straight to the texts.

_Where are you? –SH_

_Where are you? –JW_

_You alright? –GL_

_Do you want to talk? –MHooper_

_Call me. –GL_

_Syn I’m serious. –GL_

_You’re an idiot! –SM_

_What the hell were you thinking? –GL_

_Does Sherlock know about this? –GL_

_You didn’t tell him you did this, did you? –GL_

_You have no idea what you’ve just done. –SM_

_Greg is trying to find you –MHooper_

_Please call me –MHooper_

_Interesting move –UNKNOWN_

_Clever. –MH_

_Syn is everything alright? –SH_

_George went looking for you –SH_

_He didn’t seem very happy about it –SH_

_What exactly are you trying to do? Kill us all? –MW_

_You’ve fucked up –MP_

_How dare you throw away everything I’ve done for you –MP_

_Syn please call me –GL_

_Please –GL_

_If my wedding is ruined because of this so help me god –MW_

She expected a negative reaction when she asked Kitty to publish her story, but this? This was overreacting. Confused she picked up the morning’s paper from a shop a few streets down. What life was left in her at that point was drained away.

She had asked Kitty to publish a statement from the Ghost, asking for cooperation from both the public, the NSY, and Parliament. Instead, taking up half of the front page was a picture of her from the night of the fire, her mask, hood, and balaclava hanging around her neck, stray pieces of hair flying around her face as she looked over her shoulder, her face completely exposed and covered in soot. Above the picture read: LONDON VIGILANTE IDENTIFIED.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

_You knew the game was rigged from the beginning._

She kept her head down on the cab ride to the church, fear making her skin crawl and her stomach roll. She stood dumbly looking around after she paid the cabbie, torn between wanting to continue with this daunting task and just wanting to call Mary and tell her to make Janine the maid of honor. _Stay for John and Sherlock._

And then what?

She needs to focus on the now at the moment, needs to focus on getting through this wedding without falling apart. She needs to find John. That’s easy enough to do. He’s inside the church in the designated changing rooms pacing back and forth in front of a mirror. “You’re going to wear holes in the carpet if you don’t stop.” He huffs out a little laugh. “Easy for you to say, you aren’t about to get married.” She bites her tongue. “You alright? You left without saying goodbye last night.” She smiles reassuringly. “It was nothing, just a business thing that needed to be taken care of.” _He hasn’t read the paper yet._ Of course he hasn’t. Why would he? It’s his wedding day.

“Here,” She pulls a white envelope from her bag and hands it to him. “It’s an apology. I never really had the chance to apologize for leaving and making you think I was dead. I should’ve told you what I was doing. You deserved that. Read it if you have the chance, and if not its fine. I just thought it would be better if I could write my thoughts down instead of stumbling over my words like an idiot and give you a half-assed sounding apology.” He tucks it in his coat jacket and promises to read it. She knows he won’t. He’ll forget about it after tonight and Mary will probably be the one to find and read it but that’s okay too. Because it’s not only an apology for what she’s done, it’s also an apology for what she knows is coming.

She finds her designated changing room down the hall, her stylist waiting for her impatiently. The older woman watches her like a hawk as she changes into her dress. It fits perfectly, the top hugging her torso and fanning out past her hips. Despite her pleas not to Mary chose the dress with the low back, ‘the one that looked prettier’ she had said. The greying stylist begins at her face, muttering about high cheek bones and contouring, then pinching stands of her blonde hair between her pudgy fingers, talking all the while until she gets to her back. “Don’t worry dear, we can cover-“ “No. I don’t want you covering anything up.” The woman swallows hard. “We’ll just leave you hair down then. It’s long enough to-“ “No. I want my hair up.” Mary chose this dress so she’s going to have to live with seeing the repulsive history her back has.

Her bangs are braided away from her face and the rest of her hair is pinned back into an intricate knot at the base of her skull. Small purple and silver flowers are woven into her hair to cover the numerous pins. There’s a knock at the door just as the stylist is finishing and of course, it’s Lestrade. “Can you give us a moment of privacy please?” The door slams shut and she jumps. “I know I’m no Sherlock Holmes, but I know when there’s something bother you and these last couple weeks there’s been something eating at you so,” He pulls up a chair and sits beside her. “I’m here to listen.”

_I’m falling apart. John’s marrying an assassin who one way or another is going to hurt him. My picture is spread across every bloody newspaper in London. Moriarty and Sebastian are alive. I’m fairly certain whatever they’re planning is going to kill a lot of innocent people. Magnussen is getting too close for comfort, oh wait, he probably already knows exactly who his business partner is and is coming up with every way he can blackmail her by using her family. So in short, I’m fucked in every imaginable way._

“I’m fine.” She breaths, her voice hollow and emotionless making her sound anything but okay. “Syn,” She sets her jaw, closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and counts slowly back from ten. She’s not going to _cry_ like a child in front of Lestrade. “Look at me.” She opens her eyes but can’t make herself face him. “I would do anything I could to keep you happy and safe but I can’t do that if you don’t tell me what I’m supposed to be keeping you safe from.” _How can he say that about someone he barely knows?_ “I can’t.” _Deep breath. Keep your composure._ “Is it Mary?” She panics, her jaw goes slack, tears brim in her eyes. Mary’s going to kill Sherlock. “I’m sure John will still come around plenty. He won’t forget about you and Sherlock.” Oh. _Oh._ She looks back at her reflection and bites back the tears. “I know,” her voice is shaky but she manages a small, reassuring smile for herself. “I just didn’t think leaving would change everything so much.”

There’s a knock at the door that stops any further conversation. It’s time. Lestrade gives her hand a small squeeze before his presence replaced by the fretful stylists.

-/-

She’s been to too many weddings to count.

Some were small, some large, and some took place in courthouses. She’s been in nice weddings mostly, the people who organize the ceremony have always had money to throw away on such a trivial matter. She’s been married on a beach, in churches, at mansions, in the woods, a barn once, by a lake, in the mountains, and other places she’s chosen to forget. The dresses always varied; some were skimpy, some huge and puffy, some simple gowns, and some dresses that barely cover her arse and were covered in jewels and diamonds that cost more than she could fathom.

The men are always smiling, their groomsmen sliding in remarks about their buddy’s trophy, treating her as if she’s some object instead of a person. Everyone’s always happy, celebrating the newlywed couple and the bright future ahead of them. A few months will go by, sometimes even a year or more. There have been times when it was a pleasant marriage and there have been times where she’s feared for her life. Either way their faces contort to fear first, then betrayal and heartbreak as they stare down the barrel of her gun in realization. One shot execution style and she leaves, not caring that she’s left an entire family to grieve. It’s just how the business works.

But that doesn’t stop Syn’s stomach from rolling as she hurries towards the sanctuary. She’s rounding the corner to the lobby where all the bridesmaids and groomsmen are waiting when she runs into someone. “I’m so sorry, sir I-“ The older man placed a disposable cellphone in her hand. “It’s urgent,” was all he said before he disappeared down the corridor she had just come from. She turns to call after the man to question him but the ringing coming from the phone in her hand stops her. She lets it ring once, twice, three times before she answers. “I have two minutes so speak quickly.”

“Syn you were right.” “Numbers,” she breaths in relief. “I thought you dead by now. What about Dragon and Reaper?” “Yes, yes we’re all fine-for now that is. We’ve been in deep cover these last few weeks and Syn, what’s going on is bigger than anything we could’ve imagined.” She glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was near enough to overhear. “What are you talking about? What’s going on?” “It’s Pike.  He said he was traveling Palestine recently for a meeting but he wasn’t there. He was in Warsaw, Poland with-“ “ _Shitrun!”_ An explosion in the background was followed with gunshots and curses. “Numbers? Numbers!” Please no, please no. _Are you truly surprised?_ “Sonuvabitch!” “Jack! Where are you?” _Tsk, tsk, Syn. Three more lives you’ve failed to protect._ “Don’t trust-“ The line clicked. “Jack? Rhodey? Emil?” _When will you learn that all you can do is get people killed?_

“Syn, there you are!” _Janine._ “It’s time to go.” Her ears rang as the raven haired woman escorts her to the sanctuary doors. _You killed them. They were doomed to die as soon as you agreed to work with them!_ A bouquet of flowers were shoved into her hands. “Syn, are you alright?” _You’ve doomed Sherlock and everyone else you love to the same fate._ She nodded numbly. _Don’t trust. Don’t trust who? Mary? Mycroft? Pike?_

They’re in the sanctuary now, walking down the isle-when did they start walking? She catches weary looks among the smiles and she can hear the whispers beginning behind her. _They’ve read the papers._ Oh god. Sharp gasps spread like wildfire through the crowd as the horrors her back has seen come into light. She catches Lestrade’s gaze near the front and she quickly composes herself but it doesn’t slip past the DI. _He’s onto us. What if he turns us in? He won’t side with you and risk losing his job. He’ll turn you in and cover his ass with some weak excuse._

Her chest hurts.

When she parts from Sherlock to stand on her respectful side and face the crowd she finds all eyes on her and not on the groomsmen and bridesmaid walking down the aisle. She begins mapping the layout of the grounds in her head, planning escape routes in case the Yard decides to make an unwelcomed appearance. Sherlock never takes his eyes off of her.

The music stops abruptly and for a moment her heart stops in fear. The sanctuary doors swing open and she prepares herself to run but no one comes rushing in with guns blazing. It’s just Mary but even that provides no relief. Tears begin to brim in her eyes the closer Mary gets but it’s not until Mary takes John’s hand that she is able to tear her eyes away.

_How could you let this happen?_

Her head spins.

“I do.”

Her insides twist.

Wedding bells chime.

_It’s all your fault._

Smile!

Does she?

Click.

“Please step away, bride and groom only.”

Bride and Groom.

Only.

The three of us against the rest of the world.

Not four.

Not two and two.

Three.

One.

Two.

Three.

Not Mary.

Not ever.

_It’s the end of an era._

They greet guests at the venue.

More like they greet Mi6 agents, the entirety of the London homeless network, and a handful of John’s friends.

She smiles and hugs each guest, politely thanking them for coming, waiting for someone to try to kill her.

For John, she reminds herself.

Lestrade stops her once she steps inside the venue and the rush of the day s l o w s.

“You know we have to talk about the paper.” _Deep breath._ “I asked Kitty Riley to publish a story on the Ghost as an experiment, something to allow me to reach out to the public and the Yard and Parliament but remain anonymous. I had feeling someone would try something like this I just never imagined it would happen so soon.” Lestrade took a sip of whiskey.

“An _experiment?_ ” She nodded. “Yes. I wanted to see what reaction I would get.” Another sip. “From who?” Silence. “The article wasn’t published by Kitty Riley, Syn. It was published by someone called J.R.B.M.” “Yes I’m aware.” “Who is it?” “I don’t know.” _Liar._ “Syn, please tell me what’s going on.” _Don’t trust Lestrade?_ Her throat constricts and her eyes burn.“Nothing. Everything’s fine.” He grabs her arm as she tries to leave. “Let go of me.” “Syn, please-“ “I said I’m fine.” Her vision blurs as she tries (and fails) to control her emotions through gritted teeth.

She’s not fine.

She’s falling apart.

J.R.B.M.

Jim.Richard.Brook.Moriarty.

They’re all idiots.

Someone calls her name and she practically runs away.

It’s time for the speeches.

She’s at the end of the table beside Sherlock, facing the entire crowd.

Lestrade’s staring.

He looks away when she catches his eye.

One guest arrives a few minutes after everyone sits.

General Pike.

Her breath catches.

 _Composure._  

Her chest hurts.

Her arms and legs tingle painfully.

Her palms are sweaty.

Is he going to kill her?

Reassign her?

Lestrade’s staring again.

_You’re giving yourself away._

C.A.M

Her head snaps up.

Mary’s face goes blank.

Don’t.

Panic.

“Wish your family could be here to see this…”

The speech continues.

Murder.

Of course there’s a murderer running amuck, she thinks to herself as she chases after Lestrade, it wouldn’t be John’s wedding without one.

The case of the Mayfly Man ends with John saving the life of Major Sholto and Sherlock finding the man-cameraman as it turns out-responsible.

She stands away from the crowd as John and Mary’s waltz begins, waiting for the inevitable. “Lovely wedding,” Pike remarks as he stands beside her. “Yes, indeed it is.” “It would be a shame if it were ruined.” Her blood runs cold. “Let’s step outside and talk shall we?” She follows him outside, only one person noticing her departure.

“After everything I’ve done for you this is how you decide to repay me; by throwing out every single thing I’ve done to protect you.” _Don’t trust Pike._ “The only protecting you’ve done is for yourself. You don’t care about me, about how I feel, you see me as a weapon. The Suicide Squad was simply a ruse to exploit my abilities when I was vulnerable.” He was on her in one step, looking down at her with his hand raised to strike her. “Do not underestimate me simply because I am a woman with a troubled past and abilities that you think should belong to a man. I am so much more than that.”

He lowers his hand and straightens himself. “The President of the United States has requested your expertise on a reconnaissance mission in New York. You’ll be briefed on the plane ride.” “How long will I be gone?” _More importantly, will you even be returning?_ “Two weeks to a month depending on how careful you are.” _That’s too much time in between. You could be anywhere in a month._ “And if I decline?” Pike smiled. “I think you’ll find there is no declining this offer.” Her entire body lit up like a Christmas tree with red laser lights. _Snipers. He has bloody snipers trained on you._ “Oh so this is your big move? This is how you plan to control me?”

“Oh those aren’t for you.” She followed the dots as they left her body and settled on bodies inside the venue. Fuck. “You’re bluffing.” A single dot came to rest on a light just beside her head. “Am I?” She covered her head as a bullet whizzed by and send glass showering down on her. “Alright, I’ll come! Just call off your men.” “There’s a car out back that will take you directly to the airstrip. Once on the plane you are to change and strip yourself of anything that could be used to identify you. Your things are waiting for you on the plane. You’ll be arriving in New York around 7 pm.” _He’s onto us._ “Let me just say goodbye-“ “There’s no time for that Syn, this is a very time sensitive matter we need to leave immediately.”

“No. I am going inside and I am going to say goodbye to my family and I am going to have a dance with Sherlock Holmes. That’s never been a problem before General so why is it one now? Is there something you’re not telling me?” He shoved his hands into his pockets and glared at her. “You have five minutes, if you’re not out after that I’ll have you drug out understood?” “Yes, sir.” She spat.

She made it back inside just as the music started playing. It was easy enough to find Sherlock’s tall figure towering over the crowd however, seeing him huddled close together with John and Mary made her heart race. _Something’s not right._ She shoved through the crowd of people, reaching the three just as Sherlock said, “Mary, I think you should do a pregnancy test.” “Oh god, Mary.” _Pressure point. What if they take the baby? What if they experiment on it just like they did to you? An innocent little life destined to be corrupted before it’s even born._ “Stop panicking.” “I’m not panicking,” John retorted. “I’m pregnant, I’m panicking!” _Is the baby even John’s?_

“Don’t panic, none of you panic. Absolutely no reason to panic.” Sherlock tried to reassure. “Oh and you would know of course?” “Yes, I would. You’re already the best parents in the world. Look at all the practice you’ve had.” “Sherlock,” she reached out for him, wanting to comfort him. He thought he would have time before John had a family. He thought he would have a few more years at least before he permanently lost his best friend. “Practice?” John questioned.

“Well you’re hardly going to need me around now that you’ve got a real baby on the way.” It was a goodbye that was laughed off. _You could’ve stopped this._ “Dance. Both of you. Go. Now. Dance. We can’t just stand around here. People will begin to wonder what we’re talking about.” _How could you let this happen? She’s going to get John killed._ Sherlock turned to her as John and Mary danced away, his emotions in turmoil behind his smile.

“I have to go.” His smile fell. “I‘m so sorry. It’s a time sensitive case I have to leave for New York.” “When will you be back?” “Two weeks to a month depending on how much of a mess the US military has already made of the situation.” Over Sherlock’s shoulder she caught Lestrade staring again. _He’s becoming suspicious._ “Sherlock listen, if you need anything-“ “I know.” He leaned down and placed a kiss on her cheek. “Come home safe.”

“Sherlock I-“ She wanted to tell him, wanted to tell him everything. It was all on the tip of her tongue but she couldn’t. It wasn’t right to dump everything on him and not know if she’s coming back. She was a selfish person yes, but he deserved so much better. “I will.”

She turned and left, praying to gods she didn’t believe in to keep everyone safe if she didn’t return.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> So thanks for reading my story! I'd really appreciate it if you let me know what you thought!


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